


So Sure And Simple

by maxbegone



Series: Sweet Caffeine [2]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Christmas Fluff, Dogs, Established Relationship, Family Bonding, Fluff, Gift Giving, Hanukkah, Holidays, Ugly Sweaters, holiday fluff, holiday parties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27928480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maxbegone/pseuds/maxbegone
Summary: “Uh, nope. They’re coming here actually.” David’s stomach churns. It wasn’t his idea, nor was it Patrick’s, but now that David’s family is actually making an effort to see each other more often,Alexisinsisted on the jaunt. “They fly in on the twenty-third and leave the day after Christmas. I’m going to need a lot of Xanax to get through it all, which I will be stealing from my mother.”--A few years after David settles in Mistmill, the Roses come to celebrate the holidays. He’s just trying to get through it all in one piece, even if Patrick and Stevie are adamant on trolling him.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: Sweet Caffeine [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045125
Comments: 33
Kudos: 206





	So Sure And Simple

**Author's Note:**

> I told you we weren't done with this universe just yet! 
> 
> Truth be told, this was supposed to be for the Frozen Over exchange that's currently happening, but it wound up becoming part of the Sweet Caffeine series and didn't fit the bill. But don't worry - it's still holiday-themed! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy more of this universe, this time from David's perspective.
> 
> (Special shoutout to yourbuttervoicedbeau for helping me format this monster at midnight.)

_**December 18th, Seven Days Until Christmas** _

The gallery is closed until the new year starting at five o’clock today. 

That’s two more hours. He can do it. 

David sits back in his chair with a silent sigh, hands stretched up above his head, left shoulder popping. His eyes are heavy from the email blasts he’s been sorting through for the last hour.

From: artsandprograms@mistmillarts.com

Subject: Holiday Competition!

To: drose@mistmillarts.com

The Mistmill Arts Society Is Hosting a Holiday Competition for the schools! Kids ages 10-18 can submit for varying prizes worth up to $500! Ends 12/23.

Delete. Next.

From: mmacmillen@mistmillarts.com

Subject: Secret Santa Reminder

To: drose@mistmillarts.com

There are only three days left until Secret Santa! We’ll be exchanging gifts on the 18th before holiday shutdown!

\- Marjorie MacMillen

It’s a few days old, and David already dropped his off with Chloe the receptionist this morning. An aspiring artist needs good materials right? So he figured splurging on Copic markers and a nice sketch pad would be good for the perspective college student. 

From: patrickbrewer@mistmillbrew.com

Subject: Mistmill Brew Holiday Party!

To: drose@mistmillarts.com

You are invited to The Mistmill Brew’s annual holiday party and ugly sweater competition on December 22nd! Food and drink provided. Please RSVP to Patrick Brewer by December 20th at patrickbrewer@mistmillbrew.com.  


Homemade sweaters are highly encouraged! ;-)

David’s going to kill his boyfriend for the winky face on that last one. 

He prefers tasteful sweaters, curated for his aesthetic specifically, not something with hot-glued pompoms and tinsel that’s seconds away from falling apart. He didn’t participate the prior years, and he won’t be participating this time. 

He loves Patrick very much, but _no._

David will show up to support his loving boyfriend and contribute to decorating, all while holding a glass of wine. It doesn’t help, however, knowing that Patrick and Stevie will likely be wearing the gaudiest sweaters imaginable just to mess with him. 

There’s a knock on his glass office door. He looks up to see Marjorie, the museum’s chief curator of eight years, smiling at him under her big, thick-rimmed glasses. David liked her from the get-go. She’s a no-nonsense kind of woman who can drink a man under the table. In the years he’s worked as the museum’s events coordinator and as a subsequent curator, David has learned a lot about her. Marjorie spent most of her twenties in Europe, bouncing from city to city before settling in Paris for some time. She only returned to Mistmill shortly after her fortieth birthday and has been here ever since.

They clicked instantaneously.

“I’m not interrupting you, am I?” She asks.

“Nope. Just finishing up here.” David sits tall. “Did you need something?”

She shakes her head, grey curls falling from the clip that holds them in place. “I just wanted to drop this off.”

She sets down a white gift bag on his desk then clasps her hands together. “I got you for Secret Santa this year,” she beams. “Merry Christmas, David.” 

He rummages through excitedly. Inside he finds a red canister of artisanal hot chocolate — actual chocolate shavings, not the powder — and a small square box.

“Hopefully they’re up to your standard.” Marjorie leans into the wooden desk, craning her neck to see the contents of the box. “I’ve seen you in a lot of suits and they’re always impeccable. I’m sure you already have a set but if you don’t, every well-dressed person needs a pair.”

The top comes off with ease. Inside, resting on a cushy dark pillow, are a pair of cufflinks. Square, silver, with his initials, _DR,_ engraved in clean letters in one corner on each. 

“They’re lovely, Marjorie.” And really, they are. “Thank you.” 

“Wear them with pride. And you better share that hot chocolate with that boyfriend of yours.” 

“We’ll see,” he laughs, tapping the tin. “This is some high quality stuff. I’m not sure Patrick will appreciate it.”

“You _are_ a sweets aficionado,” Marjorie declares, to which David lifts one shoulder.

“That I am. So, who got you for Secret Santa?”

She bats a hand around, red lips slanted downward. “Judy from the gift shop. She knitted me a very itchy scarf that will be sitting in the back of my coat closet until she asks about it again. But she did get me a bottle of Malbec, so it wasn’t all bad.” 

David winces. “What color was it?”

“Brown. But that dirty kind of brown that doesn’t quite go with anything. Anyway,” she stands upright again, arms crossing over her chest. “What are your plans for the holidays? Going out to California to see your family?”

“Uh, nope. They’re coming here actually.” David’s stomach churns. It wasn’t his idea, nor was it Patrick’s, but now that David’s family is actually making an effort to see each other more often, _Alexis_ insisted on the jaunt. “They fly in on the twenty-third and leave the day after Christmas. I’m going to need a lot of Xanax to get through it all, which I will be stealing from my mother.” 

Marjorie laughs, shaking her head slowly. “Ah, Moira Rose.”

“Yeah, I kind of always forget that the two of you crossed paths once.”

“Just once,” she confirms, “And _barely,_ at an event in Vancouver. I guarantee she won’t remember me, but I will never forget that Shakespearean soliloquy she recited for no apparent reason.”

“And _I_ guarantee that she was several drinks in and someone set her off.” David’s seen it. “She sang, too, right?”

“Which was surprisingly lovely! That Clifton Sparks guy was a nightmare, though.” Marjorie wrinkles her nose at the memory. “He carried around a bottle of scotch the whole night and wouldn’t shut up about himself.”

David’s only had very few interactions with his mother’s former co-star, thank you, but he does know that he is in fact a fucking nightmare. “My mom would appreciate you saying that.”

“Hopefully I get to meet her again some day and have another Moira Rose story to share with you.” 

“Mm, maybe we’ll just lock that up.” He’s seen enough unfortunate souls deal with the likes of his mother in various states. He loves her, even though he never says it, but she can be a ticking time bomb. It’s often a duck-and-cover situation around the holidays. Stevie, on the other hand, which still astounds him, absolutely adores his family and revels in all their eccentricities. “What about you?”

“We’re going to see Vic’s family for a few days, speaking of Vancouver, before heading off to see mine. He’ll be here soon, actually, which is why I dropped your gift off. We’re leaving tonight.”

“That’s nice,” David muses, leaning back in his chair. He swivels a bit, stretching out his legs. “How long have you two been married?”

Marjorie actually laughs. “Oh, no. We’re not married. We decided a long time ago that marriage wasn’t for us. We’ve been together fifteen years, he’s my everything, but we’re happy as life partners. We don’t need a certificate to prove it.” 

Oh. Okay. That’s not something David’s ever really thought of. 

Granted, he’s never been _able_ to think of it seriously until Patrick. Before, it was always flings and one-sided feelings that David harbored until they were thrown back in his face time and time again. His heart was bubble-wrapped and came with a “handle with care” warning stuck to it. 

But this was the longest — and by extension most successful — relationship he’s ever been in. Marriage was just an idea before Patrick, a distant thought never to be executed. Now, the possibility seems so much more real.

And it’s a conversation that they definitely should have. At some point. Eventually.

Maybe with some liquid courage.

David’s stomach swoops. On the very slim off-chance that Patrick says he doesn’t want to get married (because he almost got engaged to Rachel and that was probably a whole fiasco), they can just be life partners, right? Marriage isn’t a deal breaker for them, they’re stronger than that.

“Hey.” Majorie’s voice pulls him out of his spiraling thoughts. “When I get back, you and I are going to that wine bar in Copperridge, okay? Bring Patrick, I’ll bring Vic. We’ll make a whole thing out of it.” 

He shakes away the prior tenseness. “I would love that.”

“Get outta here,” she says with a nod toward the door. “Go have a relaxing holiday.” 

“M’kay, but ‘relaxing holiday’ and my family don’t go hand-in-hand.”

Marjorie leans into the desk one more time. “Then drink like crazy. Everyone’s family is weird and they all have their faults, David. Sometimes, especially around the holidays, you’ve just got to embrace it.”

**

“I have a present!”

David stomps on the doormat when he enters the mud room. He hangs his coat and unlaces his shoes quickly, already mentally planning to stretch out next to the fire. There’s still a nice layer of snow on the ground to accompany the chill in the air, and David needs comfort fast.

“Is it for me?” Patrick calls back from somewhere deeper in the house. 

“Technically it’s for me, but I’ll share.” 

“Oh, how kind of you.” 

David finds his boyfriend standing over the stove in the kitchen. It smells _divine,_ whatever he’s making.

He hangs over Patrick’s shoulder, Marjorie’s gift bag dangling from his fingers. “What’s that?” 

“Butternut squash soup,” Patrick replies, stirring the thick liquid. “It’s Mom’s recipe.”

“I love Marcy Brewer,” David sighs dreamily, and Patrick giggles. 

“It’s almost done. There’s some bread warming up in the oven, too.” 

“You’re a _saint.”_ David nuzzles into his neck. 

Patrick turns around in his arms, his hands resting on David’s hips. He smiles, eyes flitting down to his lips and back up again. “So what’s this present you’re so generously sharing with me?” 

David pulls the canister out and gives it a gentle shake. “Hot chocolate!” 

“That’ll be perfect for after dinner.” Patrick takes it from him to examine it, turning it over in his hands. “We’ll have to hide this before your family gets here and they sniff it out.”

“Or Stevie,” David adds. “Or we can just drink it all in the next few days.”

“No, don’t waste it. I’m sure this stuff was expensive.” 

“Well I wouldn’t know, Marjorie gave it to me.” He fished the cufflinks out of the bag next to show him. “These, too.”

“These are beautiful.” Patrick doesn’t touch them, which David appreciates. He didn’t want to have to polish them just yet. “Are you happy to have some time off?”

“I’m thrilled that I can start sleeping in again. I have to get all my relaxing in before my parents and Alexis get here.”

“It’ll be fine, David.” 

“Will it though, do you think?” He steps away to grab two wine glasses from the cabinet. “Because I can almost guarantee at some point someone will be shrieking and it’ll probably be me— Don’t you laugh!”

Patrick ducks his head down in an ill attempt to hide his grin. “It’s just a few days.”

“A few days is, like, a millennia with the Rose family. Patrick, you’ve seen how they get!”

“Your family is lovely. They’re a little melodramatic, but whose family isn’t? Everyone has their quirks.”

“Uh, your family isn’t.”

“I wouldn’t say they’re melodramatic, but they’re definitely not perfect.”

“Okay, listen.” David sets the glasses down gently. “This is the first year my dad isn’t hosting his big holiday party back home, so there’s a good possibility he might hijack our quiet festivities.”

They spent part of the holiday together with the Roses last year surrounded by decadent food and drink. Alexis fawned over the two of them the whole night as she hung off Ted’s arm, booping their noses until David told her take her six inch Prada platforms for a run on black ice. 

Patrick, of course, looked utterly breathtaking in his tuxedo, there was no denying that. Although he claimed formal attire was very much outside of his realm of comfort for the holidays, David went soft with the thought of a pajama-clad young Patrick on Christmas morning.

He got to experience the likings of Moira Rose and her Christmas pills, performing for a party of close to a hundred people in their parlor. David was afraid Patrick was going to bolt — or worse freeze, never to function properly again. Luckily, it wasn’t the first time he was meeting David’s family. 

“David, I’m not going to keep talking you off a ledge here.” Patrick switches off the stove and sets out two bowls. “I promise you everything will be fine. We’re going to have a great Christmas with everyone; my family and yours and Stevie.”

He takes a cleansing breath, eyes closed. “Okay, fine. Can we eat now?”

“In a minute.” 

Patrick sidles up to him, his arms encircling his waist. One hand slips into his back pocket as David’s pulled close and all his tension washes away. He could all but melt into Patrick’s hold and lose himself in a kiss. David’s already smiling, leaning into the kiss—

But a force against his hip knocks him off center. 

“Woah!“

“Pepper! Down!” Patrick snaps his fingers once, and the reddish-brown goldendoodle sits, her hind legs sliding out to one side beneath her.

“I thought she would stop doing that by now,” David mutters, readjusting his shirt. 

“She’s young, David. She still gets excited.” 

“Okay, well I was trying to kiss you,” he explains with mild irritation, throwing a sidelong glance at the dog. Her tail brushes back and forth against the floor “Can we teach her not to jump when we’re doing that?”

“Maybe she thought you were attacking me and she was just being a good guard dog.” Patrick leans down to scratch at her ears. “Is that what you were doing, Pep?”

She licks his nose in response.

David would have thought that was _disgusting_ before Pepper. But he quickly came to realize just how well mannered a dog can be with the proper training involved. And really, she’s a big boneless mound of fur who flops down and slips everywhere she goes. 

A complete klutz like himself. She’s a keeper.

It was Patrick’s idea to get a dog, and after some convincing David immediately had his criteria: the dog couldn’t shed, small to medium size was preferable, and nothing with a lot of energy.

Aside from the shedding, scratch that.

It’s barely how they chose Pepper at the shelter at the end of the day. David had been rigid the entire time, sticking to Patrick’s side like glue and going on about dog hair until they passed by her crate. 

She was a twelve-week old puppy with the biggest paws imaginable and so tiny in comparison to her size now. Something about the previous owner being unable to handle puppies, she and the rest of her litter were brought in not two days prior. 

She hopped up into David’s lap the second they sat with her, nudging his nose with her own before zonking out. And well, David won’t admit it to anyone but he was a goner.

How could he just leave a sleeping puppy at a shelter for some kid with grubby hands to take her home? It was out of the question. 

Patrick still teases him about it, but he knows deep down David is Pepper’s favorite.

David’s the more lenient of the two, letting her on the furniture and even sneaking her table scraps on occasion when Patrick isn’t looking. The bandanas he buys her are the closest thing David will get to dressing up his dog — they get torn to shreds sooner or later, anyway — and he will _not_ turn into one of those people.

The bed was a lost cause to begin with; Pepper will stretch herself out at the foot of the mattress, sometimes upside down, and has been doing that since the first time David let her on with a “this is a one-time thing” talk. She listens when they tell her to get off (or in some cases leave the room), but there are nights where she’s just as stubborn as David is. 

“Okay, go lay down, girl,” Patrick commands, and Pepper dives onto her bed by the back door.

David finds himself an hour later cradling a mug of hot chocolate pressed into Patrick’s chest while he draws shapeless patterns on his arm. _Miracle On 34th Street_ plays on the TV above the roaring fire, and Pepper is sound asleep in front of it.

His mind travels back to earlier in the day to Marjorie’s stance on marriage. Again, he and Patrick hadn’t even explicitly talked about it. But they’re well and happy in their relationship, he’s let Patrick really know him, and they’re steady and committed to one another and no one else. (Except, very occasionally, Jake, but that’s another story. And frankly, who cares?)

David sits up slowly, Patrick’s hand dropping from where it rests on his arm. 

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” Patrick presses pause on the movie, giving David his full attention.

He tucks his legs into his chest. “What do you think about—-No, that’s not right.” David shakes his head, waving a hand in front of him. “Do you think that...Wait, wait a second.” 

“Hey.” Patrick grabs his hand and grounds David before he launches himself into a full bodied romp around the living room. “I’m right here, what’s going on?”

“Okay, just hear me out?” David takes his hand back to set it on his warm mug. It’s fine, he can say it. Patrick isn’t going to run away. 

Still, he closes his eyes. “What are your thoughts on marriage?”

A beat. Two beats. 

David peeks one eye open, his breath held and fully expecting a shell-shocked look on Patrick. 

Instead, he’s met with the warm, earnest eyes he loves so much. David wills his heart to stop pounding, because he swears Patrick can hear it. 

“Do you want to get married, David?” 

“That’s not the question here.” He twists his lips into a shy smile. “I mean, Ialways thought about it. But at, like, a hypothetical standpoint. It was never something I thought would _actually_ happen. Like, I had ideas but they were just that…” He flicks a wrist.

“And you want to get married to me?” Patrick flashes that stupid upside-down smile he does so often.

 _God,_ Patrick Brewer really might be the end of him with.

“I wouldn’t want to marry anyone else,” he says, and now he’s rambling, unable to control the octave his voice is at, “But if you don’t want to get married, then it’s absolutely fine by me. We don’t need to make it all official, Patrick. We can just be life partners or — _fuck,_ whatever we want to be. I just know that I want you in my life for as long as you’ll have me and—“

Patrick’s kissing him. David falters for a moment before he finds purchase and responds, sinking in.

“David. I want you to give me a one-word answer here, okay?” He nods, and Patrick drags a thumb over his cheekbone. “But before that, I just have to say that we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do or do it just because it seems like the next step. I’ll never pressure you into anything—“

“—Yes, I know that—“

“—and I’m happy doing anything as long as it’s with you.” 

Patrick leans infinitesimally closer. His voice drops to a whisper even though they’re alone in this big house and their neighbors wouldn’t be able to hear them anyway. “Do you want to get married, and do you want to get married to me?”

Something blooms in David’s chest — fire, excitement, love, probably. His eyes start to sting with tears, but he blinks them back.

So, on an exhale he says, “Yes.”

“Okay.” Patrick’s reply is soft and not insincere. “How about we get through the holidays and we’ll talk about it a little more seriously in the new year.”

“Alright.” He sinks back into Patrick’s chest for a moment before shooting up again. “Wait. Patrick, do _you_ want to get married?”

“Yes. To you and no one else,” he replies honestly, and David swears his heart just jumped into his fucking throat. “I want you in my life, David, that will never change. You’re stuck with me.”

Patrick eases him back down into their earlier position, fingers slipping under the hem of David’s shirt to trace shapeless patterns on his hip.

David actually laughs, and his apprehension dissipates. “Thank god.”

_**December 19th, Six Days Until Christmas** _

“Hi, honey.” 

When David walks into the Brew the next morning, he’s met with the smell of cinnamon and cloves and the sound of holiday music playing over Patrick’s newfangled speakers.

Patrick beams and leans over the counter to kiss him. “Hi.”

David pulls his coat tighter around himself. “Is Stevie ready?”

“I think she ran up to grab her bag,” he replies, pointing toward the ceiling at his old apartment. It became Stevie’s shortly after Patrick moved in with David, her old place having been much more cramped. This was certainly three steps up; it has central heating. “Where are you going again?”

“Braving the mall in Copperridge. I still have to find a few things for my parents, and your parents, and Alexis’s gift came this morning.”

She’d been complaining about not having a good overnight bag for some time now. David managed to find a beautiful off-white canvas duffle with brown leather handles and accents, along with a few other small trinkets. He doesn’t rush to spend like he used to, even if the itch is there. 

If there’s one thing Patrick taught him, it’s fiscal responsibility. He might have the funds, but David doesn’t feel the need to show off like he used to years ago. He doesn’t want to either.

Patrick hands him a to-go cup. “Peppermint mocha, light whipped cream. It’s Christmas in a cup.”

“Alright,” he huffs a laugh.

Stevie breezes in wearing an oversized parka that dwarfs her already small frame, a beanie shoved over her head. “Hey. Ready?”

“Yep! Patrick, do you need anything?”

“Nope, you two have fun!”

The roads are clear of snow but there’s a fair amount of traffic on the way. Last-minute Christmas shopping has never been David’s forte, he’s usually done and dusted by the middle of November, the first week of December at the absolute latest.

But work was busy this season; lots of events and corporate holiday parties that needed overseeing. David loves this job more than his gallery days in New York, but he needs to get back to sketching again. Maybe even painting. It’s been a while.

They’re closing in on the mall when the question escapes David before he can reel it back in.

“Do you think you’d ever get married?”

She sputters into her travel cup, foot slamming the break. David jerks forward with a swear.

“I’m driving! And drinking coffee!” She exclaims. She sets the cup back in its holder. “Where did this come from?”

“I asked you a question first.”

“Yeah, and you almost caused an accident!” She throws a wide-eyed, partially manic expression his way.

David gawks. _“Me?”_

“Yes! I didn’t expect that!”

“It’s just a question!”

“But it’s not.”

“It _is,”_ David’s brows shoot up toward his hairline.

Stevie grips the steering wheel impatiently. “David.”

He throws up his hands. “Just answer me!”

“I probably won’t,” she says with the smallest hint of defiance in her voice. David isn’t sure what he was expecting. “I’m in my thirties, I’m single, but I’m happy about it. I just don’t think marriage is in the cards for me.”

David studies her. “And you’re okay with that?”

Stevie nods. “Yeah, I think I am. And look, _if_ I were to find someone worth spending the rest of my life with then maybe I’ll change my mind. But right now? No, I don’t think I see it.”

When their friendship was still pretty new, David wondered quite often about Stevie’s genuine happiness. It was strange, thinking about someone in that way, he never had before (other than with Alexis), but she was constantly joking about going home and downing a bottle of wine. It reminded him, somewhat eerily, of himself. 

He still wonders now if she’s lonely. Maybe that’s why she’s been given a spare key to their home and why she’s working so often. But over the last few years, David’s seen her smile more. Sure, he didn’t know Stevie growing up like Patrick did, he hadn’t seen her heartbreaks up close, but he knows this is the happiest she’s ever been, according to his own observations and Patrick’s blatant statements.

“You know you’ve got me, right?” David asks carefully. “Patrick, too.”

“I do know that.” Her reply is curt. “You’re stuck with me, I’m stuck with you. But no, no marriage.”

All David does is hum as Stevie pulls into the over-crowded parking garage.

**

“What about this?”

David holds up a soft, green, knitted crewneck. It’s just slightly oversized, and excellent quality; it doesn’t feel itchy at all. It’s not black, but it gets the David Rose Stamp of Approval. And maybe he’s imagining how good Patrick’s arms will look in it, but no one has to know that.

“Are you seriously getting your boyfriend a sweater for Christmas?” 

David holds the sweater up higher. “What, it’s good quality!” He exclaims bodily, and Stevie gives him a heavy eye roll. “And I’m not _just_ getting Patrick a sweater. What am I, evil?”

“That’s overstepping.” Stevie plucks a hideous cardigan off the display table and wrinkles her nose at it. 

She lets it drop in a heap back onto the table, because of course she does. David will never understand how people don’t care for garments, even one as ugly as this. Regardless, he folds it neatly onto the stack.

“Patrick’s more about the sentimentality and sustainability than he is about the actual gift.” David drapes the sweater over his forearm and continues down the aisle. “I could get him a pair of socks with our anniversary embroidered on them and he’d think they’re the greatest thing since sliced bread.” Stevie’s eyes gleam mischievously. He points at her. “Don’t you dare get any ideas.”

“I would never.” 

“Anyway.” He starts shuffling through an end cap of waffle-knit thermals. “I got Patrick a new tea kettle since the handle on the old one broke off and I took the electric kettle to work with me.”

“Is it blue?” Stevie asks from the other side of the rack.

“Stainless steel, actually.”

“Oh, nice.” 

“Mh-hm. I also found an old piano.” 

There’s a moment where Stevie doesn’t say anything, she just looks at David with her big eyes and an open-mouthed smile.

“Something’s gonna fly into your mouth,” David says flatly.

“You got Patrick a piano?” Her mouth does not close. 

“He said he learned to play that before he played guitar and that he misses it,” he shrugs, feigning nonchalance and knowing all too well that it’s the _perfect_ gift for Patrick. “Someone was selling it for a pretty reasonable price on the posting board at the museum, so I went and took a look at it. It’s perfect, it’s being tuned and everything. I’m having it delivered on Monday.”

“David, he’s gonna flip!” She rounds the display to smack at his chest lightly. “You need to let me know if he cries.”

“Why would Patrick cry?”

“Because it’s the best thing you could ever get him,” she explains, bouncing on her toes excitedly. David resists the strong urge to put his hands on her shoulders to ground her. “He used to play all the time.”

“Did he play in high school?” Now David was very curious. The few times he’s been in the presence of both him and a piano, Patrick only fiddled with the keys longingly. 

“I think his grandmother taught him. Rachel knows more about it than I do.”

David can’t help but smile. He’ll have to ask her about it sometime. “Okay, so.” He holds up the sweater once more. “Is that a yes to this?”

A shock of red hits him in the face.

“Did you just throw your hat at me?”

“Get him the socks, too, David.”

“What the fuck…”

**

When their bags are secured in the trunk of Stevie’s car and all presents are accounted for, David suggests a late lunch. They hunker down in a well-worn booth in the diner when they reach Mistmill with two big cups of coffee.

June welcomes them each with a hug and gets their orders in almost immediately. 

“Why did you ask me about marriage earlier, David?” Stevie’s tone is all too knowing and quizzical, and it’s definitely a little too loud. He’d rather rumors don’t start.

“You couldn’t have asked that quietly?”

“No,” she blinks innocently, her hands folded on the table. 

“Well it was nothing.”

“Sure it was.” Stevie stares him down in a way that gets David right at his core. “Because it’s a very casual thing to bring up at random.”

“Exactly.” He busies himself with the tearing paper placemat in front of him where a droplet of water has turned it translucent. He digs a nail into it.

“Did Patrick bring it up?”

David snaps his head up. “No.” He swallows tightly. “I did.”

“So now you two are gonna run off and get married.”

“No!” David steels himself. “I don’t know. We just talked about it briefly. Nothing’s set in stone, we just...touched on it. Like, gently caressed the topic.”

“Gross.”

“We’re going to have an actual conversation about it _after_ Christmas.” 

“Uh-huh.” Stevie’s lips curl into one of her suspicious smiles. The kind that’s just a little too big to make him comfortable. David immediately clocks it as one of the most unsettling expressions his best friend can have.

_“What?”_

“Nothing,” she replies, still smiling in that disgusting way. She snatches a fry from David’s plate, dodging his hands as he swats at her. “Just mentally planning your bachelor party.” She chews thoughtfully before adding, “You’re cool with strippers, right? Maybe Vegas?”

“Tacky,” he quips, narrowing his eyes at her. How does she not understand that this a far-off, very hypothetical thing that certainly won’t happen for years? “We’re done here.”

“Oh! Those socks we talked about earlier? I’ll get you and Patrick those as a wedding gift.”

 _“Ohmygod._ Stevie! You’re not allowed over for Christmas anymore! I’m throwing your gifts out.” 

She sighs dramatically, “Too bad I have a key.”

_**December 20th, Five Days Until Christmas** _

Sunday morning sees David and Patrick at the Christmas tree farm just passed the firehouse outside of town. They had strung up fairy lights and garland throughout the house weeks ago, and his dad’s old menorah has been on full display in the window. But getting a tree was still on the back burner until now. 

Growing up, Patrick had the tradition of decorating the tree on Christmas Eve when the whole family was there to do it (even if the whole family was just him and his parents). 

David’s experience was quite different; his father would request the biggest, fullest tree from their landscaper and it would be professionally decorated and ready to go along with the house in the days leading up to their annual Christmas party. David never had a hand in decorating, he just flew in when it was time and everything looked like a winter wonderland. 

He misses it, partly. And the champagne fountain. And the dessert spread.

The miniature chocolate mousse cups had liqueur in them and they were to _die_ for.

But, that aside, David’s come to embrace simplicity since moving to Mistmill and meeting Patrick. They have their own traditions to make. Not to mention, Marcy Brewer’s cookies and anything from Twyla’s bakery are superior to anything he’s ever had in his life — Yes, that includes Magnolia Bakery and Two Little Red Hens in New York. They’re dull in comparison.

“What do we think of this one?” David stops next to an eight-footer. 

Patrick circles it contemplatively, hands shoved into his coat pockets. His nose is just the slightest bit red, matching the blooming rosiness of his cheeks. “There’s a whole chunk missing back here.” 

David ducks around, and he’s right. Toward the bottom of the tree, it looks like several branches were broken off. His shoulders fall. “Guess not.”

Patrick offers him a comforting smile and laces his icy fingers with David’s as they walk along.

“God, your fingers are freezing.” 

“I know, I’m sorry,” Patrick says and chuckles a little.

“But you’re not, though.”

He shakes his head, “You’re right, I’m not.” 

David rolls his eyes, memorizing the gentle smile on Patrick’s face like he always does. He swings their hands between them, “What about that one?”

They take in a tree of similar height. It’s slightly less full but somehow greener, and when David inspects it carefully, there are no missing gaps. 

“Looks good,” David replies, checking the price. “This is perfect.”

It’s secured to the top of Patrick’s car a short time later. David worries the whole ride that it’ll scratch the car to hell or slide right off the roof.

Getting it into the house is a whole other hassle. Patrick helms both fending off Pepper as she jumps excitedly at his legs and dragging it through the doorway backwards. It takes two tries to get it into the tree stand, but once it’s secure and there are no signs of it toppling over, David wraps the skirt around the base. 

He sits back on his heels, brushing a few loose pine needles from his sleeves. “I know we’re not really decorating it until everyone’s here, but maybe just the lights so it doesn’t look so...drab?” David glances up Patrick hopefully. “And before you say it yes, I know. Traditions.” 

Patrick presses a kiss to his head. “Lights we can do.” 

The room feels progressively cozier as they string lights through the branches of the tree, and Patrick even hangs up two of the smaller wreaths; one above the door leading out to the deck, and the other on the mantle above the fireplace. It’s all coming together.

“I have to head to work for a bit,” Patrick says as he grabs his scarf where he dropped it on the back of the armchair earlier. 

“Patrick,” David blinks at him, “it’s _Sunday._ The Brew’s closed.”

“I know, but tomorrow’s the last day before the new year that I can get orders in. I’d rather get it all organized today and send it in first thing in the morning.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t get it in last week,” David replies, getting to his feet.

“A few of the vendors are staying closed through January, so I’m just bulk ordering through them.” Patrick shrugs his coat on and digs his car keys from his pocket. “I’ll be back in a few hours, okay?”

“Yeah. Wait—” David grabs for Patrick’s hand, an idea blossoming in his mind. “I’ll drive you. I wanted to stop at your parents’ place, anyway. Your mom loaned me a book, I wanted to give it back.”

Patrick gives him a skeptical squint, but hands him the keys. “Okay, bring Pepper then.” 

He isn’t sure if he dodged a bullet there, but David will consider it a partial win. He clips the leash to her collar, Pepper wriggling around excitedly as she pulls him out toward the car. 

As soon as David turns the corner after dropping Patrick at the Brew, he dials Marcy’s cell.

“Hi, David!” Her voice chimes through the speaker and David’s excitement bubbles, his idea continuing to form. 

“Hi, Marcy. Are you home?”

“With no plans until tonight,” she says, and the smile in her voice is evident. “Are you and Patrick coming over?”

“Just me. For now, at least. Patrick’s doing some last-minute stuff at the cafè. I have Pepper with me, though.” She snuffles in his ear at her name, and David reaches back to scratch under her chin. “What’s tonight?”

“The tree lighting in the town centre. Clint and I were going to see if you boys wanted to tag along.”

“I’ll ask Patrick but I’m sure he’s in.”

“Well come over, honey. We’re just hanging around the house this afternoon.” 

David smiles. “We’ll be there in a few.”

**

Pepper runs straight to Clint as soon as David opens the Brewers’ front door. 

“Pepper! Your leash!” David yells after her, but she ignores him. She’s already launched herself onto the sofa, tail thumping against the cushions as Clint scratches at her ears.

“I’ve got it,” Clint calls over to David, “Don’t worry.”

“Sorry, thanks.” He hangs his coat up as Marcy comes in from the kitchen. She hugs him tightly, and David’s immediately swathed in the warmth the woman seemingly always carries with her. “This is for you,” he says, holding out the Deandra Jones novel to her. 

“What did you think of it?” Marcy asks excitedly, setting the book down on the bench in the foyer. “Didn’t it keep you hanging on the edge of your seat?”

“Patrick made me read it in the living room so I didn’t keep the light on all night. I didn’t expect Rosa to turn on them towards the end. I was convinced was going to side with Shannon, take that money and run.” 

“You can never be too sure with Deandra Jones’s work,” Marcy says with a small shake of her head, walking into the living room. “So what brings you by?”

David fails to hide his smile as he follows. “I got Patrick a really great gift, but I needed your help with part of it.”

“Don’t leave us hanging here. What did you get him?”

He shakes his fists excitedly. “I found a piano, it’s beautiful. I wanted to see if you guys had any old sheet music I can give to him, too.”

Marcy’s eyes immediately glean in the light of the room and she brings her hands up to cover her heart. “Oh, David…”

“My mom was the one who taught Patrick how to play when he was little,” Clint says from where he’s sitting with Pepper half in his lap. From what David can discern, he sounds choked up. “I have all of her old books up in the office.” 

David chews at his bottom lip. “So...the piano was a good idea?”

“He’s going to love it.” Marcy gives his hand a squeeze. “Patrick took up the guitar because it was much more portable, obviously, and we didn’t have a piano here when he was growing up, but it was always so nice to hear him play when we visited Clint’s parents.”

“Come on.” Clint walks over and claps David on the shoulder, Pepper right on his heels. “I’ll show you what I have.”

The box the sheet music is stored in is a little dusty, and the pages of the books are yellowed and a bit stale-smelling, but David flips through them excitedly. Not wanting to take all of Clint’s mother’s things, David picks out a few beginners books and subsequently easier literature.

Dulled pencil is etched into the margins of some of the pages, the script so pointed David almost can’t read it. Still, excitement thrums through him at the prospect of seeing Patrick’s face tomorrow afternoon.

“My mother lived half an hour away,” Clint regales as he pulls out a few loose pages. He has the tiniest hint of a smile on his face. “Patrick would stay with her once a month, but we would see her every weekend. Mom started teaching him when he was three. Patrick took to it quicker than I did when she taught me and my siblings. Then again, I can play guitar much better.”

“I didn’t know that. Did you teach him how to play?”

“In the beginning,” he explains, “I taught him the basics but Patrick ran with it.” Clint gestures to the hard case standing up in the corner behind his desk, his own guitar. “It’s rare I take it out these days. And I don’t sing like he does.”

David trails a finger over the delicate spine of the book he’s holding. It’s one of those dated, candy-colored books from the fifties or sixties. “Almost makes me wish I played.”

“Moira’s musically inclined, isn’t she?”

He lets his brows shoot up. “Singing, sure, you could say that. But the grand piano we had in our house growing up was literally just for show and the occasional hired performer. Alexis and I weren’t even allowed to touch it.” Despite its lack of routine usage, it was polished weekly. “There was one time where she had to learn the xylophone for a part and it’s all she did for the better part of six months.” David cringes lightly at the memory. “I still hear it in my sleep.”

“You can always learn,” Clint says with light laughter, “It’s not too late, I’m sure Patrick would love to teach you.”

David’s not sure if he’s tone-deaf, but he’s nearly one hundred percent positive he would never be able to read sheet music. If anything, he’ll probably have to rely on muscle memory alone, and even that might be difficult. 

“Maybe I can get through Chopsticks without making Patrick’s ears bleed.” 

Clint smiles in the all too familiar way Patrick does with his lips slightly downturned. “You’ll be a natural, I’m sure.” David snorts.

Marcy pokes her head in, scratching at Pepper’s ear, who sits upright in the doorway. “You two find everything?”

“I think so.” Clint stands, brushing his hands against his lap.

“Oh, I’m so excited!” She clasps her hands together over her chest. “You have to let us know how Patrick reacts.” 

And, okay. David really, _really,_ loves his in-laws. (He can say that, right?)

“Do you two want to stay for dinner tonight before the tree lighting?” Marcy asks him then.

“Sure, I just have to get Patrick.”

“I’ll pick him up,” Clint offers, “You can help Marcy by chopping the onions so I don’t have to. They always make me cry.” 

“And _you,_ Clint Brewer, can stop by the store while you’re out and get baking soda so we have enough of it for later in the week.” She gives him a backhanded swipe on the arm as he walks past, shaking his head.

“Yes, dear.”

David stashes the sheet music neatly in his bag where it was left in the back seat of the car. Marcy chops the onions and he follows her instructions, prepping the spinach and cubing the mozzarella for the stuffed shells.

When Patrick arrives, Pepper rushes over to him whining, her whole body wiggling with her tail. He gives her a quick scratch on the head and David watches him fondly from where he’s helping set the table. Patrick slides a hand across his back and kisses him, smiling. David loses himself for just a second, lets that floaty feeling overtake him before landing again. 

It’s probably not the best idea to get all handsy in front of Patrick’s parents.

**

“Mom, what time do you guys want us over on Christmas Eve?”

All five of them, including Pepper, are piled into Clint’s car after dinner as they head into town. David wraps his hands around the thermos Marcy handed him as they walked out of the house — hot toddies, necessary to battle the biting cold and the impending crowd.

“Maybe around two o’clock that way we can get everything set up before the family arrives,” she explains, turning in her seat. “David, is your family coming?”

His lips pull into a tight line. “They are, and I know you’ve already met them but I still need to warn you about how absolutely…they can be a _lot.”_ It spills out in one breath, and David has to glance over at Patrick before he allows himself to continue. “Especially since the rest of your family will be there and mine isn’t um…normal?”

“No one’s family is normal, honey,” Marcy assures him with a light chuckle.

Patrick rubs his shoulder. “It’ll be fine. They’re not that bad.”

“Okay, but you didn’t grow up with them,” he shoots back pointedly. “The last thing we need is my mother scaring off a house full of Brewers. At least my dad will be able to reign her in, but sometimes even he struggles. And then Alexis—“

“David.” Patrick says his name like a mantra and suddenly he’s able to breathe properly again. Patrick’s hand moves further up to knead at the tight tendons in his neck. It’s soothing. “The world isn’t ending, nothing is going to explode. Everything will be fine.”

David doesn’t say anything, just nods numbly as they continue down the road towards town.

“Stevie’s coming, too, isn’t she?” Clint directs to Patrick, looking at him through the rear-view mirror.

“She’s spending Christmas with us.” He keeps massaging David’s neck. “It took some convincing, but she’s staying over on Christmas Eve.”

Marcy lets out a sullen breath. “I worry about her sometimes,” she mutters, “but it’s good to know she has the two of you.”

David’s lips tilt up. Stevie’s part of the family; this weird and unconventional family made up of the Roses and the Brewers. He knows her history inside and out, all the choices she’s made (discussed in hushed voices while high countless times), but nothing Stevie Budd does will ever deter David. Mistmill might have given him Patrick, but it gave him a best friend, too.

“She’s okay, Mom,” Patrick comforts, “I promise.”

Marcy sighs again. “I know. It’s just that her family—“

“Is a bunch of assholes,” David finishes defiantly, and they are. Felons, too, some of them. “But Stevie has us.”

That seems to ease Marcy just enough and Clint quickly commandeers the conversation to the lighting as they pull into a crowded parking lot, sensing his wife’s discontent about a seemingly wandering and lonely soul. She would give the clothes off her back for the people she cares about and would go to any length to defend them.

David supposes his family would, too. The Roses just express their love differently and not as explicitly.

He tenses a little at the children hopping around excitedly, their parents struggling to keep up with them. It’s like they’re asking to be hit, running around a parking lot.

Patrick clips Pepper’s leash to her collar and keeps her in-stride despite her attempts to race around and sniff everything in sight. David links their arms together as they walk deeper into the packed park.

The tree towers over everyone, and although David has been to the lighting a few times already, the excitement is still very much prominent. It’s still magical.

He unscrews the cap from the thermos and takes a long sip, shaking a little at the burn in his chest on the way down. He passes it over to Patrick, who takes it gratefully.

“What time is this supposed to happen?” David whispers as he huddles close. He’s completely bundled up, but the chill is still catching his skin.

“Nine on the dot,” Patrick replies. His breath is frozen in the air.

“Okay, so how long until nine, then?”

Patrick pulls out his phone, sighing. “Half hour.”

David grumbles, “Fuck,” under his breath, already looking around for something to distract himself with. He needs to move around so he doesn’t freeze on the spot.

“My dad’s getting us some popcorn or something, don’t worry.” Frozen lips catch his cheek, and as uncomfortable as it might feel, David allows it.

Pepper starts barking a few minutes later upon Clint’s return, tugging Patrick toward him. He passes them each a bag of popcorn, holding a separate little bag under his arm.

“I got chestnuts, too,” he announces, passing the paper bag to Marcy.

David happily takes one in his bare hand, peeling back the cracked shell and biting into it. The sweetness, as well as the actual heat, is enough to send warm nostalgia coursing through his veins.

At ten to nine, a group of teens marches onto the bandstand and begin to sing. A chorus rendition of _Deck The Halls_ begins to flow out over the crowd like a hymn, and while David normally doesn’t condone public singing — even if Patrick still likes to pull that card during the open mic nights — he’ll allow it in the spirit of holidays.

He is _not_ Ebenezer Scrooge, thank you very much. No matter what Stevie says about his very particular opinions on the appropriate time to start decorating.

The song flows into _Carol of the Bells,_ because it’s a high school choir and their talents only spread so far,and when that ends there’s a ten-second countdown before the tree is alight with warm white, red, and green. The crowd cheers around them, ooh-ing and ah-ing.

Patrick pulls David in by the waist and kisses him as if it’s New Year’s and the clock just struck midnight. He’s too much, honestly, but David loves him anyway.

**

David collapses onto the sofa as soon as his shoes are off, and he gets all of ten seconds of content before Pepper is pouncing on top of him. He grunts heavily as she lands on his stomach.

“Excuse me, you are _not_ a twelve pound puppy anymore,” he says breathlessly, but Pepper only cocks her head to one side like she has no idea what he’s saying. Patrick drifts past them snickering. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“Are you talking to me or the dog?”

“That’s debatable. I currently have a full-grown goldendoodle laying on top of me, and you’re just...What _are_ you doing?” David tilts his head back until he’s looking at his boyfriend upside down.

Patrick turns to him and holds up a vinyl, and he can’t quite make out the cover. It’s a little disorienting. “I’m picking a record to play.” 

“It better be Mariah,” David warns lightly, smushing Pepper’s face.

“It’s not.” There’s a little electric _pop_ from the turntable as Patrick flicks it on and a whisper of whirring as the record starts to spin. 

The low-sounding notes from a jazzy piano start to flow from the speakers and David gasps, somewhat dramatically.

“Is that the fucking Charlie Brown album?” 

Patrick leers over him, far too pleased with himself. “Yep!” 

“Are you _five?”_

“Come on, David! It’s a classic!” 

“No, _Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown_ is a classic, as in the Christmas special. Not the actual album!” 

“Well someone gave it to me last Christmas and I didn’t want it to collect dust.” Patrick folds his arms over his chest and drops into the armchair. “Consider this me testing it out and making sure it still plays well.”

“It plays just _fine_ and I’m pretty sure Twyla gave that to you last year.”

“You’re right…” Patrick’s wearing a shit-eating grin now and if he didn’t have a dog laying on top of him, David would be doing something about it. “I should let her know we’re spinning it right now, maybe invite her over for drinks—”

“You’re horrible!” David laughs, and it only excites Pepper further. She starts licking his face despite his attempts at blocking her.

“I love you too, David.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Uh-huh.” He hears Patrick stand. “Pepper, down.” It takes that and a snap from Patrick for her to finally hop off David’s chest. He’s able to breathe without restriction for a minute until Patrick straddles him. His hands slide up and down his sides, catching the hem of David’s shirt along the way. “Do you love me?” He mutters low.

David fails to fight a smile. Patrick hovers over his lips, eyes darting down to them and back up again. “You did just play a very different album from what I requested…”

Patrick leans in closer. “Is that what I did?”

“Mh-hm. You didn’t even take my request into consideration.”

“It was less of a request and more of a demand. And I’ll call me putting on an album a spur of the moment thing.” Patrick drags a finger featherlight across David’s lips. If he doesn’t stop the teasing right now… “Say you love me.”

“Or what?” David prods.

His eyes glean in the warm light of their living room, and sure enough Patrick’s up to something. He moves until his lips just barely graze David’s, then snaps his head away at the last second. Patrick’s lips press against the ticklish spots on his neck, kissing furiously as David shakes with laughter beneath him. 

“Okay! Okay! I give in!” He places his hands on Patrick’s cheeks. “I love you, you’re a _menace!”_

Patrick looks way too proud of himself. “Thought so,” comes his smug murmur and he kisses David soundly.

_**December 21st, Four Days Until Christmas** _

One thing David didn’t have to worry about when it came to the piano was the bench — it came with it. 

He had gone to see the piano in person just a few weeks back. One of the security guards at the museum had put up the ad, explained he was downsizing when David inquired and that the piano was in near-perfect condition. Minus a few territorial scuff marks from years of use, it was good as new — a rich polished mahogany with a matching bench. 

Patrick leaves for work early, a rush of cool and irritating air sneaking under the covers making David groan. He gets two more hours of sleep before he’s bouncing around the house excitedly. 

David scrubs down the kitchen countertops, wipes the windows clean of any fingerprints and smudges, and vacuums the floors. Twice. He takes a good look at everything around him when there’s nothing else to do, slightly lost. 

Pepper blinks at him through doleful brown eyes from he bed.

David pats his thighs. “Come on, Pep. Let’s go for a walk.” 

She’s on all fours immediately, bounding to the front door where she waits obediently for David to bundle up and clip the leash to her collar.

The walk doesn’t take nearly as long as he’d like it to, even with the leisurely pace they’re taking. There are still mounds of dirty snow on the ground and Pepper’s more interested in the squirrels running through the trees on the side of the road. 

Not to mention David didn’t grab gloves on the way out, so his hands are turning to ice.

He’s going to resolve to pacing around for the next hour if he doesn’t distract himself when they get back, so he brews some tea, spins a Christmas record (a proper one, not Charlie Brown) and pulls out his sketchbook. David hasn’t had nearly enough time in the last few months to draw anything aside from the little doodles in the margins of his notepad at work or the post-it notes Patrick keeps in his ledger.

The contours of Patrick’s face are just coming together on the page when the doorbell finally rings.

He directs the movers into the living room, smiling the whole way as the vision comes together. Pepper stands alert on the sofa, front paws on the arm like she’s keeping watch, her tail wagging about.

David signs off on the delivery and they leave him with two hours to spare and some setting up to do.

“Okay, girl.” He turns to Pepper, hands set firmly on his hips. “What do you think?”

She lets out a little huff. 

David smiles. “That’s what I thought.” 

Talking to his dog. David shakes his head, who would have guessed?

**

“What if we put this photo up here, too,” he murmurs to himself, but also Pepper, as he arranges the piano set up for yet a third time. “And the books...on the stand here. Obviously.” 

It looks beautiful in the dimming afternoon light, absolutely perfect. Sure, David’s been messing with the upright piano setup for so long now that he’s back to square one. Which, he supposes, is probably for the best. 

A small bundle of wildflowers in an old glass bottle, a bright desk lamp, and a framed photo of the two of them sitting on the dock at the end of their property from last Autumn; a candid that Rachel took when she was in town visiting with Chris. 

The trees behind them are varying shades of fiery red and gold, they each have giant mugs in their hands — hot spiked cider, if David remembers correctly — and his head is resting on Patrick’s shoulder, eyes closed and content. It’s hard to see Patrick’s face at this angle, but David imagines he’s wearing one of his trademark fond expressions.

Pulling everything together, just above the piano is the sketch of the Brew David gifted Patrick the first year he moved here. It’s hopped around a lot; from Patrick’s apartment, to the wall of the café itself, and in multiple spots around the house. But its new home above the piano might just be permanent.

David steps back from his masterpiece and admires the whole thing, hands out flat. Pepper, who has since curled up on the couch lets out a short little bark, perking up. She leaps towards the front windows and lets out a little howl, her ears flopping around as she throws her head back. 

Patrick’s home.

He makes his way outside just as Patrick slams the car door shut, nearly slipping on packed snow on the front step. David doesn’t even let him get in a greeting before he folds him up in his arms and kisses him. Patrick responds, of course, with a hand cupping the back of David’s head. 

“You’re happy to see me.” 

“Am I?” David asks in a taut voice. His shoulders rise and fall. 

“Looks like it.” Patrick gives him a little squint like he’s onto him. “You’re not even wearing a coat. What’s up?”

David fails to hide his excited smile. He takes Patrick’s hands, squeezing gently. “I have something for you.” 

“I thought we agreed? No gifts until Christmas.” Patrick’s head turns to the side, his eyes earnest.

“I know that, just—” David shakes his hands out. “There was a scheduling conflict, just close your eyes.” 

“We’ve been together two and a half years, David. Has it _really_ been your plan all along to rob me blind?” Patrick smirks, his tone lilted and teasing but he obliges.

“You’re funny.” David steps behind him and sets his hands over his eyes. “And I would use a sack of coffee beans first, you know that.”

He leads Patrick back into the living room where the piano sits waiting. “Okay, you can open them,” he announces, pulling his hands back and ducking around excitedly to witness Patrick’s reaction, biting into his bottom lip.

Patrick’s eyes flutter open and focus on the sight in front of him. David’s going to vibrate out of his skin if Patrick doesn’t say anything in the next ten seconds. But his breath catches and...Patrick’s sighing? Quite heavily, actually.

“David…”

 _Fuck._ “Did I—Was this a bad idea? Should I give it back?” His thoughts are flying around at warp speed and he can’t seem to catch them. “It’s fine, I can, I—”

 _“David.”_

Patrick grabs him by the shoulders, eyes wide and shining. David realizes that the sigh was more of a disbelieving exhale. And, okay cool. No backtracking, this was still a good idea.

“I don’t know what to say,” Patrick breathes and he’s blinking back tears. “I love it, David. Thank you.” 

He hums. “I figured you could start playing again. You’ve said you’ve missed it.” 

“I have,” he agrees, turning back to look at the piano. “You’re crazy.”

“Am I, though?” 

“Just a bit, yeah,” he breathes again and pulls David back in for a kiss. 

**

“Is...that what you’re wearing?”

David spins around to see Patrick looking perplexed with his big eyes. He back looks down at his outfit — deep grey jeans with rips at the knee, white designer tee, and he’s holding a leather jacket in one hand.

“What’s wrong with it?”

Patrick blinks. “It’s a holiday party, David.”

“Correction,” he holds up a finger, “It’s _Jake’s_ holiday party. No need for festive colors or whatever.”

“I know, it’s just that…” Patrick scratches the back of his neck. He looks...flustered. “Jake blasts the heat at his bar, you know that.”

“So?” David turns back to the mirror. 

“Leather’s hot, David.”

Oh, okay. Now he gets it. But David can twist the knife a bit, too. He smirks at Patrick and chides, “Yes it is. And better than your getup last year.”

“What?” Patrick’s eyes go wider, somehow. “That shirt was nice!”

“It was _tight,_ Patrick,” David shoots back with a teasing wink, “I know we don’t participate in Jake’s ‘whiskies,’ but it looked like you were trying to pull something.”

“Yeah, a muscle,” he laughs, “Do you not remember me having to drag you and Stevie off the bathroom floor because you two got so high you couldn’t stop laughing?”

The memory is just the slightest bit foggy. He winces. “To be fair we were definitely laughing about your shirt, too.”

Patrick’s giving him a flat look when David turns back around. “Thanks.”

“What? Stevie started it.”

He rolls his eyes lightly, lips upturned. “Whatever. Jake’s not selling sex tonight.”

David makes a noise at the back of his throat. “Isn’t he, though?”

“I mean yes,” Patrick chides and his cheeks begin to color. “But he’s also not exactly selling it, either. _That_ part is an open invite. We’re just going for the party.”

“Fine.” David puts one hand on his hip, his other hand fisted but hitting every other syllable. “The second we see anything remotely resembling an orgy, we leave.”

“Exactly.” Patrick actually smirks in response. “That’s all I ask.”

“And if Jake asks about anything tonight, we politely decline, give him a rain check for another day and go on our merry way.”

“Did you just say ‘merry,’ David?” Patrick looks too amused, of course he does.

“I’m in the holiday spirit, don’t judge me.”

“I can tell by all the leather,” he teases. Patrick reaches out to stroke the jacket, but David walks back to the closet. “What? What are you doing?”

“You’re right, no leather. I have something that I was going to wear tomorrow, but — _Aha!_ —I can always wear something else.” David pulls out a sweater, a silvery, sparkling thing. He turns, giving a little shimmy as he holds it out on its hanger toward Patrick. 

“That’s certainly more festive than I expected,” Patrick replies. This time, David lets him run a hand over the fabric. “I don’t want you wearing this and not having something to wear tomorrow, David.”

He bats a hand. “Please. Have we met? I have something for almost every occasion, I’ll be fine tomorrow. I even have something some people might consider ugly but is actually _very_ fashionable and more suited for your ‘ugly sweater’ theme.”

Patrick’s brows raise just slightly. “Can’t wait to see it.”

**

The thing about Jake’s holiday party is that it’s kind of...untraditional, for lack of a better term. Or maybe it’s just a traditional party with Christmas decorations thrown in for good measure. Patrick once deemed it a “very casual holiday party,” which tracks.

Jake slashes drink prices for the night and holiday music is mixed in with the usual rock and folky alternative that he plays year-round. The bar is decked out in gold and silver tinsel, sure, as well as some lights, but it’s overall pretty lax in terms of festive decor.

Although David does get some personal joy out of the menorah positioned dead center on the top shelf of the bar. 

Stevie finds them as soon as they walk in. “There’s karaoke.” 

David’s eyes narrow. “I’m gonna need several shots before that happens.” 

“I’ll never get why you like karaoke but you hate open mics,” Patrick muses with a shake of his head. 

“That’s because you're not trying to sound good when you’re doing karaoke,” he explains passively as they wander toward the bar. “And unlike with your little performances, I’m often drunk when I do it.” 

Patrick breathes out slowly, and he looks like he only partly got what David said. “Sure.”

“Hi, boys. Stevie.”

They turn, and there’s Jake leaning over the bar in probably the most theme-appropriate flannel he owns, a classic red and black gingham. The scoop neck of his shirt underneath hangs dangerously low on his chest and _okay..._ Okay.

“Hi,” David manages, leaning into the bar with his chin in his hand. Is this seductive? Maybe this is seductive.

He glances over at Patrick, who’s _definitely_ trying his best to be as cool as possible with one leg crossed over the other and a hand on his hip. It’s not working, and David absolutely loves him for it. 

Jake’s eyes scan over the two of them and then Stevie. It’s just how he is, David’s come to realize; he isn’t inherently trying to flirt, Jake’s just like that. A smooth-talker.

If he could have had even half this guy’s bravado when he was younger, it would have prevented a lot of foot-in-mouth scenarios. 

“What can I get you guys?” Jake pushes a small A-fold toward them, waggling a brow. “We have themed drinks.”

David takes the board from him, struggling not to roll his eyes at the names.

_**Claus-Mopolitan -** Cranberry juice, white peach juice, triple sec, vodka, coconut sugar rim_

_**Holly Jolly Christmas Cocktail -** Vodka, St. Germain, fresh-squeezed blood orange, ginger beer, pomegranate arils_

_**Chocolate Candy Cane Martini -** Candy cane-infused vodka, creme de cocoa, milk, chocolate syrup, candy cane rim_

_**Eggnog -** Bourbon, cinnamon and nutmeg garnish_

Names aside, they all sound good. And if they wouldn’t completely bowl him over, David would try one of each. “The Claus-Mopolitan. Patrick?”

“Just a bourbon on the rocks, please,” he replies, clearing his throat.

“You got it.” Jake leaves them momentarily, with a wink.

Stevie leans into David’s shoulder. “Your face is red.”

 _“Your_ face is red.” Patrick laughs lightly next to him. “So is yours!”

“N-no it’s not.”

“It is, actually,” Stevie unhelpfully agrees.

“Okay!” David shakes his hands around. “We said we weren’t doing this tonight, so we’re not doing this tonight.”

Stevie raises a finger. “I might do this tonight.”

“Yeah, you have fun with that,” he shushes her with his fingers, “getting someone’s sloppy seconds.”

“Okay, but I’ve been going after Jake long before you even moved here so I think you’re technically getting _my_ sloppy seconds. Maybe even thirds.” 

“Gross,” he replies tersely. Patrick’s hand comes up to his shoulder. “And don’t _you_ say anything.”

“I never did anything past drunkenly making out with him once before we met,” Patrick says low enough for only David to hear, “Don’t worry.”

Oh, yes. David knows that story. 

Jake returns with their drinks. “On the house,” he winks before moving to talk to a group at the other end of the bar.

“You know,” he begins, turning to Stevie, “you two are basically wearing the same shirt.”

She glances down at herself, picking at the fabric. “Red flannel is popular, David. Besides, this is actually _plaid,_ his is like...checkered.”

“You really just showed exactly how much you know about fashion,” he replies, bringing his drink to his lips. David sips it carefully. It’s sweet and just the slightest bit tart from the cranberry. “This is _dangerous,”_ he declares, passing it over to Patrick. “Here, try it.” 

He keeps a hold of the glass as Patrick takes a sip. “Oh man. You better not get carried away with those.”

“Yeah, I can’t make any promises.” 

Patrick looks at Stevie for some sort of help, but she only holds her hands up defensively. “It’s not my turn to babysit him!” 

David’s eyes narrow. “Thank you. I’m really loving this dynamic here. It’s great.”

**

Someone said something about promises earlier, right? What were they about? David can’t remember. He’s too focused on keeping up with Twyla and following the lyrics scrolling on the display in front of him. 

He finishes on a high note and someone whistles. 

Patrick. It’s _Patrick!_

David gives Twyla a quick hug because that was a perfect performance in his book, thank you, and skips over to his boyfriend.

“Hi— _umph!”_

He catches Patrick’s lips as best he can in a sloppy, perfect, _perfect, perfect_ kiss, leaning all his weight into him. 

David sighs dreamily. “Your eyes are pretty. You’re pretty. Patrick, did you _know_ that?” He brings his hands up to frame either side of his face. 

“Okay.” Patrick’s fingers wrap around David’s wrist delicately. “I think we’ve had enough to drink tonight.”

“No!” He whines and then, forcing his tone back to a reasonable octave continues. “No. I am fine, Patrick! I just did a whole set with Twyla and—” David swivels his head to find the girl. “Twyla,” he repeats. “Did she leave?”

“She’s having a nice glass of water right now,” Patrick assures, “Which is exactly what we’re going to get you before we head home. Because you are very drunk and we have things to do tomorrow.”

David shakes his head again as Patrick guides him along. He tries his very best to stay rooted to the spot in protest but it’s like his feet are moving of their own volition, and a cool glass is suddenly thrust into his hand. 

“Drink it,” Patrick urges.

He doesn’t, though. David just peers into the glass for a long moment. “Is this vodka?”

“It’s definitely not.” Patrick chuckles and wow. David really loves that laugh. He wants to wrap himself up in that laugh. Is that even possible?

He just really loves Patrick. Like a lot. 

Like a lot, a lot.

That’s the thing about Patrick though, isn’t it? He’s impossible not to love. He’s pretty, he’s kind, his ass and his arms are _perfect._

“Oh, well I’ll certainly be taking that as a compliment.” 

Fuck, he say that out loud, huh? Whatever. 

David sways a bit. “You totally should! Have you looked at yourself lately?” He sets his glass down and presses his hands into Patrick’s shoulders. “Your shoulders, too, they’re...strong.”

“Strong, huh?” Patrick blinks up at him with those eyes again and _god_ David is going to die.

“Mh-hm.” His lips pull into a wide smile. “Very strong.”

“Wow.”

He pokes Patrick in the chest. “You’re my boyfriend. I love you. I love my boyfriend!”

“I love you, too, David. Now drink your water.”

He grumbles, low and guttural but downs the glass in three sips. “Done!”

“Good!” Suddenly Patrick is slipping an arm around his waist and guiding him to the door. “Time to go.”

“What? No!” David jumps from his hold. “We need Stevie, Patrick! Where’d she go?”

“She’s with Jake, probably.” Patrick keeps guiding him towards the exit. 

“I bet they’re having sex tonight,” he says, then giggles uncontrollably. “Patrick! Stevie’s having sex with Jake! And they’re wearing the same shirt! That’s probably confusing.”

Patrick keeps steering him toward the door. “You’re probably right.” 

“Can you imagine if Stevie leaves wearing Jake’s shirt?” He snorts. “And then Jake’s wearing Stevie’s? It’ll be _so small!”_

“You’re going to have such a hangover in the morning,” Patrick murmurs. “We’ll see Stevie at the party tomorrow and you can ask her all about her shirt if you even remember this conversation.” 

“There’s another party tomorrow?” David whips around toward Patrick, eyes bulging. “Are there gonna be any of those Santa Claus drinks? You could totally do that, Patrick!”

“Oh, definitely not.”

David goes silent for a long time as they walk, and cool air manages to sober him up a bit. The night air is bitter, it’s causing Patrick’s cheeks to tinge pink even with the short walk to the car. It’s cute, though, and lovely. He kind of looks like a porcelain doll with his rosy cheeks.

_“Honey.”_

“Yes, David?” Patrick asks amusedly. 

“Can I kiss you?”

While David expects a teasing rejoinder, even in his drunken state, Patrick actually stops dead in his tracks. His arm still remains looped around David’s waist from before, and he’s bringing his other one up to wrap around his shoulders. 

Patrick kisses him like he always does, soundly and like it’s his duty to do so, but the sparks and giddiness are there, too, just like the first time they kissed. 

_“That was a very public first kiss.”_

Patrick breaks it all too soon, and David emits a little whine in protest. “If we go home, we can do more of that,” he whispers in promise and, well. David can’t argue with that.

_**December 22nd, Three Days Until Christmas** _

The bedroom is too fucking bright. Why the hell did David think keeping sheer curtains on the windows was a good idea? He’d like to have a word with his past self, thanks.

Just when he makes the appropriate decision to not leave his bed for the rest of the day, a heavy _thunk_ sounds by his head. He groans into his pillow.

“Drink this,” comes Patrick’s voice at the very edges of David’s sleep state. 

Reluctantly, he rolls onto his back and a chill rushes over his body. Gentle fingers brush through his hair as he comes to. He keeps his eyes closed. “What is it?”

“Water. And coffee.”

David only grunts in response. 

“Hey.” The bed sinks to his left. “David, are you naked?”

His eyes snap open at that. Sure enough, his shirt has been discarded on the floor next to the bed and so have his pants and boxers. If he wasn’t so hungover right now, he’d be a little more embarrassed by his actions.

“I guess I got hot?” Patrick’s biting his lip as he fights off laughter. “Can you please hand me my pants?”

“No.” Patrick moves to run a hand through his chest hair. “I think I like you better like this.” 

“Patrick, I’m going to freeze when I get up, at least give me my fucking pants.”

In response, he drops a kiss to David’s forehead, then his lips before passing his sleep pants to him. David wriggles around beneath the sheets unceremoniously as he pulls them up to his hips, and Patrick watches on in amusement the whole while.

“I’ve seen every inch of you, why are you getting dressed under the covers?” 

He shoots Patrick a look. “Do I seriously have to reiterate that it’s _freezing_ outside of these sheets?”

“The heat’s on,” he reasons.

“Okay, well. I’m still half-naked.”

Patrick kisses David again, passing him a water glass and two painkillers. “Be honest; how are you feeling right now?”

David’s eyebrows twitch upward. “Like I got hit by a bus. Three buses. And a train.”

“You _did_ drink four Calus-Mopolitans at Jake’s last night.” Patrick exchanges the glass for a hot cup. David relishes in the warmth and smell of delicious coffee.

“What a stupid name,” David grumbles. He can still taste the sweetness if he focuses enough. It’s a little nauseating.

“Those will not be served at the holiday party at the Brew tonight, don’t worry.”

David hums, “I look forward to mulled wine.” 

“There will be plenty.” Patrick gets to his feet, rolling his shoulders. “What are your plans today?”

“I _was_ going to nurse this hangover until later, and I was hoping you’d laze around with me, but I still have to wrap some presents.”

“I got my mom to wrap mine for me.” 

David sets his mug down on the nightstand. “You did not,” he replies, bending over the side of the bed for his shirt. David knows for a fact that Patrick exclusively uses gift bags. “You notoriously cannot wrap a gift to save your life.”

He bobs his head to the side. “True. I managed to wrap one gift, though. It took a few tries, but it looks professional.”

“I’ll have to be the judge of that.” David extracts himself from the covers, wincing as his feet hit the cold wood below. “Knowing you, you put a bow on it.”

“Just one of those sticky ones,” Patrick confirms. “It’s for Pepper, anyway.”

 _Of course he did._ “Right, well. I need to wash this hangover off my body, so if you’ll excuse me.” He motions to himself as he nudges past Patrick. 

“I was going to have breakfast waiting for you when you woke up,” Patrick says as he follows David toward the bathroom. “But it’s almost eleven and I had no idea if you were going to stay partially comatose until later in the afternoon.”

David’s mouth twists into an off-center smile. “I could use the greasiest plate of bacon and eggs right now.” 

Patrick leaves him with a kiss to his cheek and a squeeze to one of his shoulders.

The spray of hot water soothes the heavy throb at his temples, and he takes his time massaging shampoo and conditioner through his hair. By the time David is out of the shower his stomach is positively growling. All he can remember eating last night were a bunch of hor’dourves and a few store-bought sugar cookies. 

He towels away the rivulets of water and dries his hair until it falls flat. David will worry about styling it later. He needs real food. _Now._

**

“No, Stevie! You’re hanging it wrong!” David swipes the garland from her and she lets it go with ease. 

“How is it wrong, exactly?”

David steadies himself onto a chair near the far side of the windows in the shop. “You need to let it drape naturally, you can’t just pin it in a straight line. It’ll look stupid.” He glances down at her. “Watch and learn.”

“Oh,” Stevie plops into a chair nearby and sends him a satiric salute, “Yessir.”

One side of the garland falls part-way down the windowpane as David pins it in the corner. He swears under his breath as he can’t quite reach the next panel of windows, no matter how much leaning he does. 

“I can scoot you over,” Stevie suggests. She’s already on her feet and bracing the back of the chair when Patrick comes out of the back holding a cutting board.”

“Don’t do that!” He sets the board down heavily. “I’m not taking either of you to the hospital. We have too much work to do before tonight.”

David shares a look of mild disappointment with Stevie but hops down.

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Stevie grumbles, “You’re no fun, Brewer.”

“Blood isn’t exactly festive, you know,” Patrick chides as he slices up an orange.

“Gross, Patrick,” David replies mildly. This part of the garland really isn’t staying, and a few of the foam holly berries tear off from their hold and drop to the floor. “Dammit.”

“Was anyone aware that these things stain your hands?” Stevie rubs her fingers together and sure enough they’ve turned a little red from picking them up. She wipes them on her jeans.

David finally gets the garland to stay — with some struggle and an extra bit of twine — and he moves on to the rest of the windows. 

The café looks like a tasteful winter wonderland. There aren’t paper snowflakes in the windows like at Barry and June’s diner (“David, their grandkids made them.”), and Patrick hung fairy lights up around the room last week. 

It’s warm and cozy, and the gentle pine candle he lit earlier really pulls the whole scene together. 

David steps back to admire his work. “So,” he starts, wandering over to Patrick and Stevie by the counter. “How revolting are your Christmas sweaters going to be tonight?”

“Revolting’s a little mean, David,” Stevie blinks at him.

“Yeah, I prefer ‘tastefully curated’ and ‘aesthetically pleasing,” Patrick adds, sliding the orange slices into a pot.

“Okay so bad then.” David puts a fist on his hip. “Like, the worst of the worst.”

“I don’t think you should be too quick to judge,” Stevie says, picking up two thick ribbon bows. She shakes them, glitter dropping onto the floor. “You might actually like what we have this year.”

“Oh, god.” David’s forehead meets the counter top. “Awful.”

“I think my favorite part about Christmas is making you suffer through all the tacky holiday stuff, David.” Patrick is actually smirking.

“Really? Your favorite part is making your boyfriend suffer?”

“You squirm.”

“I do not—“ He shoots Stevie a glare as she cackles. “I do not _squirm!”_

Stevie eyes him. “You’re squirming right now.”

David hugs his arms at his sides. “You two are...lethal together. And I know you think that’s funny.”

Patrick bites his bottom lip to hide a smile and Stevie merely nods and says, “We do.”

These two...As much as David loves them both, they’re going to be the fucking death of him. 

**

He’s helping Twyla set up the food — and sneaking several mini doughnuts — before the guests arrive when David realizes that Patrick and Stevie are missing. He supposes they’re just in the back, getting more paper goods and mugs until— _nope_. There they are, walking through the door wearing two of the worst things David has ever seen.

“Fuck.”

“What?” Twyla spins towards him, concern written over her face. “David, did you hurt yourself? I didn’t actually put real swords on those nutcracker cookies—Oh, hey guys! You look great!”

“Thanks, Twyla.” Patrick beams and Stevie matches him. “I like your sweater.”

It’s not the worst thing David’s ever seen; it’s a classic red with a fireplace on the front, garland hanging across her arms and two small stockings hanging from each sleeve. However it doesn’t fully help that she paired it with a home-made skirt full of present bows.

“Thanks!” She holds her arms out to give the full picture, smiling her thousand-watt smile. “But let’s talk about _yours!”_

“Yes,” David winces. “Let’s. Because I never expected…” He circles a hand at them both. “This. Where did you find something so—”

“Perfect?” Stevie’s grin is too wide.

She and Patrick stand side-by-side not in sweaters, but in matching Christmas-themed suits. David feels like his eyes have actually been assaulted by the amount of cherry red and candy green going on; trees, reindeer, snowflakes, and all sorts of patterns.

Stevie actually does a spin. “I’m thinking I can wear this to something formal,” she says. It’s then that David realizes she’s also wearing a black ribbon tie. “What do you think? Does this get the David Rose Seal of Approval?”

He’s pretty sure his face is stuck in the same revolted shock as it has been for the past two minutes. “I think I’m already afraid for next year’s party.”

“You know we were going to go with one of those sweaters where two people can fit inside,” Patrick explains, coming around to loop an arm across David’s shoulders, “but we thought it would be too uncomfortable.”

“Right,” David nods. He feels numb. “I don’t know what to say…”

“Twyla, can you take a picture of me and Stevie with David?”

“Of course!” She takes Patrick’s phone from him and suddenly David’s being bracketed by two of the biggest trolls Mistmill has ever seen. He bares his best smile, and it’s not a big one by any means, despite the affronting situation. 

“You know, David, your sweater isn’t exactly festive,” Stevie observes picking at it, “I mean, it’s ugly, but it’s also very grey. Wait! Is it somehow Scrooge-themed?”

“Rude.” He shoots her a tight little smile and huffs a laugh. “I’ll have you know that this is Neil Barrett.”

“Ah, of course,” she nods, “I should have known. Well I like it. It’s very grandpa chic.”

David has no idea what to do with that. 

“Okay, Stevie let me get a picture of David and Patrick together,” Twyla says, lowering Patrick’s phone. “And then we need to get some of the two of you together, and I want a picture with you guys, too!”

Wonderful, this is turning into amateur photo hour.

“Come here.” David only registers the words after Patrick presses a kiss to his cheek. He tries to wriggle away, laughing, but he’s being held securely in place.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, or else I would seriously be reprimanding you right now.”

Patrick bats his eyes. “Aw, you think I’m cute?”

“Don’t,” David points. “Is that wine ready yet?”

**

Thinking back on it, David isn’t sure he’s been to so many consecutive holiday parties in a row before moving to Mistmill. He used to just go home for his parents’ big romp (and get roped-into performances with his mother that he’d very much like to forget about) only to duck out early with old friends. Acquaintances, barely anything now that he really gives it some thought.

After a few too many wild New Years Eve parties in New York, David opted to watch the countdown in the privacy of his own home.

But now that he lives in Mistmill, David’s automatically invited to several parties each holiday season, and he’s not exactly complaining about it. Although, there are times he prefers a quiet night in. There’s only so much festivity his social meter can take.

Someone hip-checks him and David’s mulled wine nearly sloshes out of his mug. 

“Where’s the booze?” 

He whips around to direct the voice to the drinks table but stops himself. “Rachel!” 

The tiny redhead immediately pulls him into a tight hug. He breathes a small sigh of relief seeing she and Chris are dressed like normal humans; Rachel in a tasteful burgundy dress and Chris in a white knit sweater and jeans.

“We didn’t know you guys were going to be here,” David exclaims stepping back. He greets Chris with a handshake. “Patrick’s around here somewhere but fair warning: he looks ridiculous.” 

Rachel laughs, “It can’t be as bad as — oh my god what is he wearing?”

David follows her gaze to where Patrick is standing with his back to them. He’s talking to a group of regulars, completely unaware of the new arrival, and his atrocious suit jacket has been discarded for the time being.

“I’m pretty sure a guy in my office was wearing those exact pants at our Christmas party last week,” Chris mutters in amusement.

Rachel folds her arms over her chest. “Hey, Brewer!” She calls over the music. 

Patrick smiles the second he sees her, excusing himself from the group to come over to where the three of them stand. Rachel launches herself at him, knocking Patrick back a few steps. 

“What are you guys doing here?”

“We got in this morning,” she explains. “Did you really think we’d miss your annual holiday party? I do have a few questions about your outfit, though.” 

“Oh, it was Stevie’s idea,” Patrick replies. 

David breathes in sharply. “Of course it was.” 

“Yeah, and there’s a jacket that goes with this, I’ll put it back on later. How’s married life treating you guys?”

“It’s amazing,” Rachel sighs, dream-like as if she’s remembering the day. 

She looked like a vision in a sleek white gown, her hair in cascading waves down her back. As true as it was that all eyes were on the bride that day, David looked at Patrick a little bit more. And sure, maybe he did think about marriage throughout the day, it was a wedding, who wouldn’t? David isn’t one to shy away from fantasizing about things — he had a whole wedding dream book growing up.

Patrick had dragged him out onto the dance floor and they swayed along to some ballad, maybe imagining their own first dance until Rachel ducked in to take David’s place. 

David shakes himself from his thoughts. “How long are you guys in town?”

“Until the thirtieth,” Chris says, “We have a New Year’s party at my brother’s back in Toronto or else we’d stay a little longer.”

“When are you guys gonna come visit? Patrick,” Rachel smacks his arm playfully, “you can afford to take three days away from this place to come see us.” 

David lets their banter play out before him, watching as Rachel pokes and prods at Patrick’s innermost thoughts. It’s a solid friendship; she knows Patrick inside and out, and despite David’s initial anxiety when he first met Rachel a few years back (by getting caught mid-makeout session in Clarke’s Bookshop no less), he’s happy to call her a friend as well. And Chris, too.

He’s a great guy, and David knows Patrick would never approve of anyone less than perfect for someone who has been in his life for so long.

Stevie finds them eventually, her hands way too full of drinks. Rachel comments on her matching suit, taking a mugful of mulled wine for herself and Chris.

“The pants are uncomfortable, but getting to see David’s reaction was worth it.” Stevie elbows him in the ribs. He only juts his chin at her in response. “I think I might wear the jacket on Christmas Day. I’m sure your mom will have a lot to say about it.”

David rolls his eyes heavily and clinks his rings against his mug. “Why am I friends with you?”

Stevie hums. “Proximity.” 

“Is that it?” 

“I hate to break this up,” Patrick interrupts, “but we have to announce the winners of the ugly sweater contest.” 

“I still don’t understand why I couldn’t take _one_ cookie from that prize basket, Patrick,” David complains mildly as his boyfriend smiles up at him. “Nobody would have noticed.”

“Because that wouldn’t be fair to whoever wins the basket.” He pecks David quickly on the cheek before he and Stevie march off.

Patrick is hopping up onto the counter, hideous suit jacket on again, and is actually ringing a bell to get everyone’s attention. Where he got that, David’s totally unsure, but he has an inkling as to _who_ got it.

“Hey, everyone!” The room goes quiet but the reverberating excitement remains. “First of all, Stevie and I just want to thank you for coming tonight. We hope you’re all having fun.” There’s a weak cheer from someone on the opposite side of the room. “Merry Christmas, happy holidays, whatever it is you celebrate! Let’s get to the good stuff.” 

Patrick rubs his hands together excitedly, bottom lip between his teeth. David really can’t help but smile at him, shaking his head. He’s in love with this man, head over heels and unmistakably so. Patrick, who is undoubtedly, a bit of an excitable dork.

Twyla wins Most Creative Sweater and is given two bottles of wine and a hot chocolate set. One of the regulars who David sort of recognizes wins Naughtiest Sweater (because “Jingle My Bells” with the aforementioned near the crotch is inventive) and receives the basket that includes the cookies that David wanted. 

A bunch of gift cards, which Stevie so unfortunately deemed a “bouquet of gift cards” goes to a couple for the Best Couples Sweater; cards from the Brew, Twyla’s bakery, Clarke’s, the diner, Weston’s Florals and a few other establishments.

“We have one more consolation prize!” Stevie yells to the crowd. She’s standing on a chair near Patrick, waving around a Christmas tree headband. 

“As an honorable mention,” Patrick starts, “the Least Festive Sweater goes to...David Rose!” 

There’s a raucous round of laughter and cheering as David grits his teeth. He can’t _fucking_ believe these two and their antics. His lips twist into a pained smile and he’s fully intent on standing right where he is, but Rachel shoves him forward. She’s laughing when he whips around to shoot her a glare.

Patrick slides the gaudy headband onto David’s hair, still sitting on the counter, even though he tries to duck away from it. He plants a bunch of kisses to David’s cheek. “I get to go home with this guy,” he yells through laughter, and Rachel actually wolf whistles. 

“You are such a troll,” David whispers to him. 

“Mh-hm. You love me.”

“That I do,” he agrees, nodding, “But you’re still a troll.”

From his perch on the counter, Patrick hugs him from behind pulling David between his legs, his nose buried in his neck. He leaves featherlight kisses along David’s stubble, it tickles and he flinches a little. 

“Do you like your prize?” Patrick asks quietly, flicking the gaudy headband.

“I like _part_ of my prize.” David twists around to look at him properly.

Patrick’s eyes flick down to his lips then back to David’s eyes again until the very last second. He kisses him soundly, carefully, and the noise of the party drowns out around them. David lets his tongue drag across his bottom lip, allows himself to melt and taste the lingering wine and spices on Patrick’s tongue. 

Unfortunately, he pulls back all too soon, dragging a gentle finger over David’s cheek. 

He’s not letting that be it for the night; Patrick, even in his ridiculously hideous Christmas suit, does it for him. David would pin him against a wall or continue to make out with him right on this counter if there weren’t so many people nearby. The back room is an option, they’ve used it in a pinch, but David knows Patrick would want to be a courteous host.

He pockets the idea for later once they’re home and alone and he has free reign to explore Patrick’s body. That’s a few hours, yet. 

“I cannot wait to take this suit off of you later,” he breathes into Patrick’s ear. “And maybe burn it in a fire.” 

He leaves his boyfriend flushed and doe-eyed in search of cookies.

_**December 23rd, Two Days Until Christmas** _

“David.”

_“Mh…”_

“David, wake up. We need to go.”

He noses further into his pillow. “Five minutes.”

“We overslept. Your parents and Alexis land in an hour.”

“They can call a cab.”

“David.” Patrick hits him with a pillow. “We promised, come on.” 

He reluctantly extracts himself from the sheets, back cracking. 

After the party last night, David did in fact take Patrick’s suit off him. But he didn’t burn it; apparently the dumb thing cost a pretty penny, so he just chucked it into a corner and pushed Patrick into the mattress until they both unraveled. 

That explains why they overslept.

For the next half hour, the two of them dance around each other as they rush to get ready, trading showers and pulling clothes on as quickly as they possibly can before running out to the car. 

They arrive at the airport just a few minutes after the plane is due to land. At around a quarter to ten, David gets a text from Alexis saying they just deplaned and they’re waiting by baggage claim.

“We should have stopped for coffee,” David grumbles miserably as Patrick parks the car. “They’re _just_ getting their bags.”

“We’re going to breakfast as soon as we’re done here.” He unbuckles his seat belt. “Come on.”

They hear the Roses before they see them, a chorus of excited “David!” that makes the man in question roll his shoulders in preparation. 

“My prodigal son!” His mother waltzes over to them in six inch heels and heavy sunglasses, a fur cap adorning her head. She’s unsurprisingly overdressed for the trip. His mother wraps him up in a hug. “I’ve missed you, darling.” 

“Hi, Mom,” he rasps, “Hi, Dad.” David has to actually wedge his hand from his mother’s grip in order to hug his father properly. Alexis pulls him in next, meeting his height in her own heeled boots. At least she’s _almost_ dressed properly for the inclimate weather.

The Roses may be extreme, and hugs are a rarity mostly besides the ones from Alexis. David has to admit he’s missed them fiercely.

“You boys look good!” His father beams. “Happy, healthy. Patrick, how are things? How’s the coffee shop?”

His mother presses her hands together. “Yes, that delightful little hash house!” 

_“Mom.”_

“The Brew’s doing really well, Mr. and Mrs. Rose, thank you for asking. I set some stuff aside for you guys to take with you. It’s at the house.”

“That’s very kind of you. And how’s the museum, David? Are you still painting at all?”

“You know, I was skeptical of your downsizing at first, dear,” his mother chides, “but it appears that you’ve paved a path to simplicity,” 

“Right, thanks,” he dismisses, “And I am, but could we _please_ talk about this over breakfast? I’m _starving.”_

“Ooh, yes!” Alexis bounces a little on the spot, wrists bent. “I only had pretzels on the plane. Patrick, are we going to your place?” 

“We’re just going to the diner in town,” he replies, taking Alexis’s bag as they walk back toward short term parking. She takes his arm in hers and meets his stride.

“Fine, but I have to stop in before I leave and get some coffee to bring back for Ted. He loves that roast you sent us two months ago. What was it?” She twists at her earring. “Like, a malt thing right?” 

“It was a bourbon-infused roast,” Patrick clarifies. “I have a few bags you can have.” 

“Ted’s gonna be thrilled!” He sends his love, by the way.” Alexis punctuates it with two air kisses, which David only slightly hates.

“Where is Ted, anyway?” He asks as his mother links their own arms together. “Does he have a bunch of pets to spay and neuter?”

“Gross, David. He’s visiting his family. I’m heading out to see them for the new year.” 

The drive back to Mistmill is not without its hiccups. David winds up miserably sandwhiched between Alexis and his mother in the back seat so his father can stretch his legs after the long flight. The whole ride, his mother comments on the perfunctory sights and the day’s grey skies, of the impending snowfall scheduled for late that evening. 

She makes one remark on Alexis’s smudged mascara at the corner of one eye that sends his sister reeling, and it makes David tap Patrick on the shoulder and ask if it’s too late to book a hotel. 

**

“What is this place?” His mother squints up at the diner with her mouth slightly open like she expects the sign to be a little more telling.

“Moira, honey, we came here last time we visited the boys.” His father places a careful hand on his wife’s back as they head inside. “You remember, don’t you? It’s a cozy little place, good food. The owners are very kind.”

“Still think this will be okay?” David asks Patrick, leaning into his shoulder.

Patrick only guides him forward in response.

Both Barry and June greet them all up front, shaking hands with David’s father before one of their granddaughters brings them to a line of half-booths toward the back of the restaurant. David, who absolutely refuses to be caught in the middle of his mother and Alexis again, takes the spot at the end of the table.

“...So I was, like, halfway to the event when I realized I was passing your old gallery, David.” Alexis spears a strawberry with her fork. She’s in the middle of a far too long-winded story about some clients that only she is able to follow. “It's basically the same, except everything is just really weird pop art now and there were a _bunch_ of college students lingering outside.” 

“Whatever,” David says around a mouthful of eggs, “I don’t care about that place anymore. It’s old news. Buried.”

“That’s very precocious of you, David.” His mother leans into the table. “You’ve championed forward like the headstrong young man you are.”

“Um, thanks, but I don’t recall you guys being thrilled when I told you I sold the place.”

“Well we were a bit concerned at first, son,” his father explains tentatively, coffee cup half-raised to his mouth. “You poured your heart and soul into that galley, we just wanted to know you were...secure.”

“Secure,” he repeats, tense.

“And you clearly are!” His father smiles at him, then Patrick. “You clearly know what you’re doing and you’re happier now. We know that.”

Patrick’s foot hooks around his ankle beneath the table, and David smiles at him softly, his lips pinched off to the side. 

“I am.” He says profoundly, eyes locked on Patrick’s. 

“You two are _so_ cute!” Alexis fawns over them, a hand fanned out under her chin.

Next to Alexis, his mother hums. “Yes, Patrick handles our David’s dramatics valiantly!”

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

“Patrick, dear,” she ignores him, reaching far across the table to take Patrick’s hand and meets her halfway. “You’ve cared for our son and treated him beautifully these last few years. And I know that you will continue to do so.”

David ignores the growing lump in his throat (and the _slightest_ grating of his nerves) and focuses all his attention on Patrick. 

“David has taken care of me, too, Mrs. Rose.”

Her red lips press together in a gentle smile. “Knowing how much you love him brings such ease to a mother’s heart, even when her only son lives so far away.” She gives David a forlorn glance and he smiles weakly in response.

“Uh, what about me?” Alexis interrupts the moment with a glare between them all. “I don’t live near you guys and my relationship with Ted is _thriving,_ thank you.”

“Yes, yes, Alexis. Your father and I never once doubted your relationship with Theodore.”

“You called him Todd for, like, _three_ months!”

Their father’s eyebrows pop up in a complicated way as their mother waves a dismissive hand about. “Occupational hazard, dear. I meet a lot of people.”

David actually chokes his coffee. That just brought him a stupid amount of joy, even if Alexis is fucking five years old and pinches him.

Patrick catches his eye across the table again, mug raised. He sends David one of his haphazardous winks and his heart immediately swells in his chest. If Patrick’s okay with dealing with this sort of thing for the long run, then David supposes a few days with them over the holidays is just a drop in the bucket. 

**

Once everyone’s bags are put away in their respective rooms, Pepper has made her rounds excitedly saying hello to the new guests, and Stevie finally arrives, they carry in the boxes of ornaments from the garage. 

It’s really David, Patrick, and Alexis who decorate the tree; their mother is reading a novel she found on the kitchen table and Stevie’s deep in a conversation about business with their father. The two of them have grown close, it’s sweet.

“David, is that the menorah I got you when you moved to New York?” 

He follows his father’s gaze to the intricate silver menorah that’s been sitting in the window since even before Hanukkah two weeks ago. “Yes it is.”

The joy on his father’s face is unmistakable. “Well,” he sighs, and David notes that he actually sounds a little emotional. “I’m happy to know it’s getting some good use.” 

“Of course it is,” he assures quietly enough that only Patrick really hears it. 

“Would you guys ever consider putting up a Festivus pole?” Stevie asks from her perch on one of the armchairs.

David makes a face. “What the _fuck_ is a Festivus pole?”

“Festivus,” Stevie says like it’s a completely well-known fact. “For the rest of us.”

“Alright, that doesn’t make any sense!” 

“David, you’ve seen Seinfeld _,”_ his father claims. “At least you told me you have.”

“No, I’ve seen _Jerry_ Seinfeld. Like that actual guy, not the show. He, like, walked past me once in a restaurant on 86th years ago and then one other time at the Al Hirschfeld Theatre. Also, that doesn’t tell me anything about this Festivus thing.” He shakes his hand out at the word like it’s materialized in front of him.

“Festivus,” Stevie recites, now peering down at her phone, “is a secular holiday the day before Christmas Eve — that’s today — and is an alternative to the pressures and commercialism of the holiday season.” She locks her phone and looks up at him. “According to Wikipedia.”

“You put up an aluminum pole, air your grievances,” Patrick unhelpfully supplies, pulling out a string of silver ribbon, “and you celebrate anything that seems even slightly out of the ordinary.” 

“Those are called Festivus miracles,” Stevie adds.

David blinks slowly at all three of them. His dad is actually snickering behind his hand, and Stevie isn’t doing anything to hide her own laughter. “I don’t like the dynamic here.”

“Hey, Stevie, I think we have an industrial-sized thing of aluminum foil at the café if you want to swing by and grab it later.” Patrick continues to decorate the branches as he speaks. “I think wrapping a wooden pole with it might be our best option.”

“I could get a big red bow, too—”

“Okay, so this actually sounds like a ridiculous idea.” It’s Alexis who says it, not David, though he does exchange a grateful look with his sister. “We have, like, _so_ much setting up to do if we want your house to look adorable.”

“Mh-hm.” David nods. So much for momentary teamwork. “This house isn’t going to look adorable or like a gingerbread house or a New York deli decorated for the holidays,” he states firmly. He shoots Stevie a look when she actually snorts. “We’re aiming for a tasteful, festive aesthetic,” David concludes, arms circling wide.

“And it will be a lovely dacha indeed, dear.” His mother adds without even looking up from her reading. He’s convinced she isn’t entirely clear on what’s happening beyond the pages.

Alexis shakes her head. “Whatever. Glitter’s going to wind up everywhere.” She pulls a sparkling silver bauble out of a box, discarding brown brown packing paper onto the floor. Her fingers scratch absently at Pepper’s head where it rests on her lap. “You guys better have a good vacuum.”

“We dealt with it last year,” Patrick explains. “Found glitter well into February.”

“Wait, you guys had a tree even though you came to Mom and Dad’s last year?” 

“It’s a principle thing,” David replies as he passes Patrick another ornament.

“Right, well I’m officially putting some new ornaments on the list for next year,” she declares. “No offense, Patrick, you’re a button, but your ornament game could seriously use an upgrade.”

Alexis gets to her feet, disrupting Pepper who immediately moves to where their mother is engrossed in her book. She prods at her thigh with her nose, but when she realizes the woman’s attention is elsewhere, Pepper trots over to their father. She sets her chin on his knee and he begins to happily pet her.

It took some time for his mother to warm up to a dog roaming around his house, let alone a teething puppy during her first visit. To everyone’s amusement, she actually kept all of her belongings on the highest places around the house. She’s better now, but she barely touches her. Pepper has since made it her mission to follow her around until she gets her attention.

“Alexis,” David snaps at one point, “you’re ruining the tree!” 

She swivels around, an ornament dangling in each hand. Her eyes are narrowed at him. _“How,_ David, am I ruining the tree?”

“You’re not balancing everything properly!” He yanks an ornament from her limp grasp, a few specks of glitter floating to the floor, and walks around to the far side of the tree. David sets it onto a branch with a certain precision that makes Alexis grumble.

“I call putting the star on top!” Stevie raises her hand excitedly.

“This isn’t even your tree,” David retorts.

“But I don’t have a tree.”

“But you’re not even _helping.”_

“I’m keeping your dad company,” she claims, “I’m also supervising.” 

David squeezes his eyes shut. “How are you doing that exactly?” 

Stevie shrugs. “Moral support, then?”.

He opens his mouth to retort, but Patrick interjects. “Stevie, you can put the star on.”

“Thank you, Patrick.”

“And I actually have two new additions to the tree this year,” he continues. Patrick begins fishing around the box of decorations until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Oh my god.”

He holds two — somewhat tacky — ornaments up to David. One is a dog bone, striped in red and white like a candy cane, with _Pepper_ written in swirly ink across it. “I was just going to go for an actual pepper ornament, but I figured you’d say it didn’t fit with our whole theme.” Patrick smiles at David’s forced laughter, holding the second piece higher. “And this one…”

“Is a picture of us.” David’s brows arc high as he takes the tiny cabin-shaped frame in his hands. “From...when is this from?” 

They’re both dressed up and somewhere that David partially recognizes; he’s in a little more of a tailored and sleek ensemble while Patrick wears one of his suit jackets and a pair of jeans.

“Your first showing at the museum before you started working there.” Patrick’s voice has gone softer, quieter, and David would be remiss if he didn’t acknowledge the way his own chest tightens. 

He remembers it now; Patrick’s encouragement, his own reluctance, Stevie’s own “encouragement” which involved several slaps on the arm and some tough-loving. And Alexis finding him the day before, a surprise to them both especially with the much needed heart-to-heart.

David swipes at his eye. “This is really tacky,” he laughs, voice thick. He rolls his eyes a little. “But I _suppose_ we can hang it.” 

Of course, Patrick’s eyes are big and round as motions towards the tree. “Hang it wherever you’d like. Just—not in the back, please.”

“This is so _sweet,_ David!” Alexis’s chin hooks over his shoulder as she tries to make a grab for the frame. He swats her hand away. “Hey, I’m just trying to look at it! I’m pretty sure I’m the one who took that picture, anyway.”

“Will you get off me?”

When it comes time for Stevie to put the star on top -- “Please be careful, this thing is delicate.” -- David pulls a kitchen chair over for her to stand on. He worries his rings as she steps up, removing the tree topper from its box and passing it to Patrick.

“Hey! Is that what I think it is?” His father is on his feet, eyes alight. David has to bite back the proud grin, his lips twisting off to the side as he nods.

Stevie positions a glass Star of David on the very top branch, her hands wavering by it until she’s convinced it isn’t going to fall to the floor and shatter.

“We bought it my first Christmas here,” David explains, beaming. His father gives him a careful shake of his head. “I _am_ a delightful half-half situation, so…”

His father emits the tiniest _“Oh,”_ sounding choked-up as he steps forward to hug David. He accepts it, because he knows the holidays mean a lot to his father, even if this was just a simple gesture.

David mentally gives himself a pat on the back, though, as he admires the group’s handiwork.

**

“This is new,” Alexis says well after dinner. 

She’s standing over the piano in her silk pajamas, toying with its keys gently. David doesn’t tell her not to touch it — it’s not _that_ delicate of a thing — he just watches her carefully out of the corner of his eye from the kitchen. 

“It was a present from David for Christmas,” he hears Patrick say and a short tune plays out.

Alexis smiles at David over her shoulder. It’s one of her genuine smiles, not tight in any way. She just gives him a sweet Alexis Rose smile that he doesn’t see as often as he’d like. He returns it, albeit a little pursed as he tries to hide it.

Alexis turns her attention back to Patrick, who begins to teach her how to play Heart and Soul while David makes them each a cup of tea. He has to be really careful with the kettle since the handle is broken. If he really wanted to ruin all of Patrick’s Christmas gifts, David would open the new one right now. 

She twists the end of her hair. “What did you get David for Christmas, Patrick?”

“Oh, I can’t tell you that,” he says, accepting a mug and walking over to the sofa, “David’s right here.”

“True,” she sighs, turning to him. “Hey, can you leave for a sec?”

“No, but you can leave for three years,” David deadpans. He falls into Patrick’s side.

She rolls her eyes. “Anyway, are we really meeting your whole little family tomorrow, Patrick?”

“My family is not little,” Patrick chuckles, and David’s stomach swoops with nerves, “There’s at least twenty people outside of my parents and your family and Steive.” 

“How do you remember everyone?” David peers up at him wide-eyed. “And what are the odds we can convince your mom to make everyone wear name tags?”

He’s met a good majority of Patrick’s family before at barbecues, birthdays, random pop-ins at the café. He can name a solid few, but there are just too many Brewers for David to keep track of. And why should he when his favorite has his arm wrapped around his shoulders right now? 

Naturally, David leans further into his hold, eyes drifting peacefully shut until Pepper barks somewhere by the front door.

Patrick sighs. “I’ve gotta walk her. I’ll be back in a few,” he says complacently, and David gives his chest a pat as he stands. 

“Bring a flashlight,” David says to his retreating back.

“Yes, dear.”

Alexis is watching him intently when the door closes behind Patrick, and that smile is back. Her finger is pressed to her lips as she squints at him.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” She averts her gaze like she’s searching for the words. “You like, found your person, David,” she finally says. “How amazing is that?”

He bites his lip. _Pretty fucking amazing,_ he wants to say, but David still has that old-faceted inkling anxiety in the back of his mind that makes him believe that if he does say it out loud, he’ll just be jinxing everything.

Old habits, they die hard.

“I can literally hear you thinking.” Alexis swats him. “Can’t you just allow yourself to be happy?”

“Okay,” he starts, “historically speaking—“

“Enough of that. I call bullshit, David, it’s old news.” She leans forward in her seat, and David frowns. “Didn’t I tell you when I first met Patrick that he’s perfect for you? Because that’s what I remember. And I don’t think I’m wrong when I say he’s it for you.”

He ignores the swilling in his stomach. “It?” He asks, fully aware of how dumb he sounds.

“Yeah, like Patrick’s the _one_ for you.” Alexis sips her tea and her eyes bore straight into him.

He...doesn’t love that, feeling vulnerable. Especially in front of his sister who, no matter how hard David tries, can always read him like a book. It’s occasionally disconcerting.

“Hey.” She taps his arm. “Are you just going to stare off into the distance, or are you going to agree with me?”

David’s initial reaction is to throw her a look but he manages to catch himself before it happens. Instead, he takes a long drink from his mug and focuses on the photo of them that sits on the piano; blissfully happy and content. The walls around him, once rented from a pair of strangers, are now his—no, _theirs._

They have a dog, their families, this community — things David never knew he needed, let alone wanted. And now he can’t see himself without these things. If you were to strip David down to the bare bones of himself and toss him back into his old life, he’d be unrecognizable. It’s ingrained within him; this is home, and wherever that is, it’ll always be with Patrick. 

“I think he is,” he catches himself admitting quietly, lips twitching upward. He’s not smooth in the way he swipes at a falling tear. 

Alexis’s face lights up joyously, and she looks as if she’s about to launch across the sofa and hug him when their conversation is cut off by the front door unlocking. A set of paws comes bounding across the hardwood floor, Pepper greeting them both before heading off to her water bowl.

Alexis excuses herself, bidding them goodnight with a wink rivaling Patrick’s in how terrible it is thrown over her shoulder.

“Bed?” Patrick knocks David’s shoulder and when he nods, he’s pulled to his feet, discarding their cups in the sink to be dealt with in the morning.

When they get to their door at the top of the landing, Patrick gives David’s hand a tug, stopping him in his tracks.

“What—?“

Patrick just points upward at the small bundle of green and hanging from the doorframe, a hand sliding onto his waist. 

“Did you actually hang mistletoe?” David asks lightly. 

Patrick shrugs. “We’ll call it incentive.”

His boyfriend is beyond ridiculous. David rolls his eyes and kisses Patrick anyway, wrapping himself around this man. 

They sway gently on the spot, and David is sinking into the momentary bliss when a small howl interrupts them. He fixes Pepper a disapproving look as Patrick laughs.

“Okay. We’re in her way apparently.” Patrick swings the door open, letting the dog in first, before guiding David into their bedroom by the shoulders. 

Pepper dives for a ratty, oversized stuffed bone and darts back out of the room with it, the squeaker inside sounding as her jaw clamps down.

David laughs. “For a second there, I thought any fun we were about to have this evening was going to be effectively ruined by our dog.”

Patrick blinks at him. “I’m sorry, did you want to have sex with your parents and Alexis in the house? Because I was just shooting for lazily making out until we both fell asleep.”

“They’re downstairs,” he reasons, pulling out a nightshirt from the dresser. “It would have been fine.”

“I don’t know, David. You’re not always quiet.”

Heat reaches from his cheeks to the tips of his ears and _okay._ Patrick appears to be _very_ proud of this claim. “O-okay.”

“Unless,” he continues, voice gruff and low as he loops his arms around David’s waist, pulling him in close, “you’d like to prove me wrong this evening.” Patrick noses at the corner of his mouth, pressing a featherlight kiss to the seam. It’s gentle but David swears he’s going to lose himself.

His breath catches in his throat. “I-I just recall it being your rule that we don’t have sex when family’s around. Or Stevie.”

“Right, but how many times has Stevie caught us?”

“Um, too many to count, it's actually concerning. And the fact that we’ve messed around quite a bit in the back room at the cafè doesn’t help, but I blame that on you.”

Patrick hums, toying with the hem of David’s shirt. His fingers graze the bare skin beneath the layers and his eyes go just the slightest bit dark. “Is that a no?”

A seductive Patrick is _very_ hard to deny. David bites his bottom lip. “You know, you’re not exactly quiet either.”

“Oh?”

“Mm-hm.” He leans in closer. Two can play at this game. “Like you said, you’ll just have to prove me wrong.”

Patrick’s eyebrows go up at the challenge and it’s not at all subtle how his fingers dig harder into David’s hip. 

_**December 24th, Christmas Eve** _

It’s snowing, and it has been since very early in the morning, so it looks like Marcy’s comment about a white Christmas is clearly ringing true. 

The kitchen counter at Patrick’s parents’ place is overflowing with ingredients for sugar cookies, peanut butter blossoms, snickerdoodles, and the fan favorite: Marcy Brewer’s raspberry thumbprint cookies. 

It’s all hands on deck; David, Patrick, and Stevie have been put to work, and so has Alexis.

“I already have the dough made for the orange rolls to bring over tomorrow,” Marcy says as she carries a tray from the oven over to the already-cramped kitchen table.

Patrick forces a laugh. _“Mom.”_

“If you boys think for a second that we’re coming over empty handed, let alone on Christmas, you’re sorely mistaken,” she reprimands.

“We already have so much food,” Patrick explains as he lines a baking sheet, “The last thing we need is more sugar.”

David nudges him. “I’m not objecting to it.”

She doesn’t look up from where she’s placing a batch of cookies onto a cooking rack. “Christmas, Patrick. Orange rolls are tradition.”

He lets out a defeated, “Okay,” and leaves it at that.

“Marcy, can I use this one?” Alexis holds up a star-shaped cookie cutter. “I don’t want to, you know, mess with the theme or something.”

“Use whatever’s in that container,” she smiles, pointing to the storage box that Alexis is rifling through.

“David, there’s flour on your sleeve,” Stevie points out, pushing a rolling pin forward. 

He swears under his breath and pats it out.

“Did you ruin it?” Patrick asks.

“No,” he mumbles, “don’t get your hopes up, it’s barely anything.” He turns back to his task at hand; spooning warmed jam into the divots of the thumbprints. It’s syrupy and gooey, and David is trying his very best to be precise. His sleeves were already rolled-up, but flour is tricky.

“This is fun!” Alexis unnecessarily slams a palm into the cutter she’s using. It spooks Stevie. “Right, David? We never did this growing up.”

Marcy looks between them all. She knows how untraditional David and Alexis’s upbringing was, so the lack of baking shouldn’t surprise her. Her face does fall, showing sympathy. 

“We’ll be rectifying that from now on,” she concludes with defiance, and Patrick raises his eyebrows at David. You don’t stand in Marcy’s way when determined. She’ll just mow you down.

By the time some of the Brewers begin to trickle in, they’ve made at least eight dozen cookies, and there are still two trays left in the oven.

“No flirting with anyone today,” David warns Alexis under his breath and she pitches his side. “Ow! Fuck—“

“Relax, David.” She flicks a piece of hair from her face. “I’m not going to flirt with anyone.”

“Funny. Because flirting is your natural way of communication.”

“Okay, maybe it is!” She snaps. “But I’m not trying to gain anything here.”

David pouts. “Poor thing.”

“Stop bullying me, David—“

“Kids, enough.” Their father walks up behind them, their mother on his arm. 

“Alexis, why are you bullying David?”

Her eyes nearly pop out of her head. “Okay! That is _not_ what’s happening here.”

David smirks, “Are you sure? Because you pinched me not thirty seconds ago.”

“Alright, if you two don’t stop this,” their father physically steps between them, his hands out, “I’ll make you stay in opposite corners of the house all night. And I can’t believe I have to say this to two grown adults.”

“John, come, let’s find a familiar face.” Their mother tugs his arm in the direction of the living room. “They’ll be fine.”

He leaves them both with one last mild look of warning. 

“Just for the record, David, Ted and I are doing super well, so I’m not looking to pick anyone up tonight,” Alexis states as she fiddles with an earring.

“Fine.” David sighs. “I _guess_ it’s good to know that you’re happy.”

Her voice softens. “I am. We are.” There’s a beat before she says, “You know, you seem really happy, too. All that time in New York when all you needed was to pick a random spot on the map and find the love of your life. Like, what are the odds?”

“This is feeling scarily reminiscent of our conversation last night.”

“It’s just good to know Patrick makes you happy,” she replies, playing with an earring.

David relaxes at that. He doesn’t get to reply because the man in question comes up to them with a glass of wine in each hand.

“That’s for you,” Patrick says, handing one to David. 

Alexis gives them both a knowing look before skirting away, muttering something about finding Stevie. 

**

“...Patrick jumped off the dock, got a nosebleed. It was _awful.”_ They’re talking to two of Patrick’s closest cousins in age, Rob and Charlotte. And if David’s remembering correctly (and he’s not sure he is), they’re one of Clint’s sister’s kids.

“I was nine, I was just following your lead, man!” Patrick gestures with his glass toward Rob.

 _“Paaaat!”_

_“Oof—“_ A tiny blur comes flying through the living room and collides with Patrick’s legs; a kid with a mess of blonde hair wearing a rumpled checkered shirt. 

His head is nearly bent all the way back to look up at him. 

“Collin, what did I tell you about running in the house?” Rob warns. 

The kid — _Collin_ — rolls his eyes. “Sorry, Dad.”

Patrick musses his hair further. “What’s up? Are you excited for Christmas?”

“Yeah!” He starts jumping up and down. “Santa’s coming! We get _toys!_ And, and! I asked for a new bike, and Amelia asked for dress up clothes!”

David’s barely following along as the boy rambles on about their Christmas tree when he feels someone tug at his pants. A tiny girl with doleful brown eyes and a purple dress is staring up at him. 

“I like your skirt,” she says to him, and David’s arms go up a little like he’s wading through waist-deep water. 

“Thanks,” he mutters. He knew there would be kids — Patrick has a lot of cousins, and his cousins have a lot of kids — he just didn’t expect them to be so...touchy-feely. At least this one has good taste.

“Hi, Amelia,” Patrick waves to the girl, and she waves back shyly. 

“Patrick!” Collin is doing a full-palmed slap against his thigh to get his attention. Because it’s necessary. “Who’s that?”

Patrick’s arm slides around David’s middle, pulling him close. “This is my boyfriend, David.”

Collin scrunches up his nose. “Boyfriends are gross. Amelia has a boyfriend.”

“No I don’t!” The little girl stomps her foot, and David would be remiss to say it didn’t remind him a little of Alexis when they were kids. “Mickey’s my friend!”

“But he’s a _boy.”_

_“So?”_

“I’m sorry, are we talking about the mouse here?” David asks, bewildered, and Rob shakes his head.

“No, it’s just one of the kids in her class. Guys, why don’t you see if Aunt Marcy needs help with anything.”

The two of them race off toward the kitchen immediately, yelling about the cookies they saw earlier. 

Charlotte shakes her head, “So much for no running in the house.” 

“Trying to get them to stop at home is worse,” Rob mutters, and yeah David has no way of relating to that, thank god. This is heading into uncomfortable territory. 

One of the kids starts yelling from the hallway, and David bristles.

“I bet,” Patrick says. His hand presses into David’s stiffening back. “Will you guys excuse us?”

Patrick guides them away to a free corner of the couch. He falls into the back cushions with a relieving sigh as Patrick tilts David’s head toward him, meeting his lips, and letting a hand fall onto his hip. 

For a few beats of momentary bliss, it’s just them in the room, and he’s melting into Patrick’s touch until Stevie kicks their feet. They snap away from each other, David a little dazed. 

“Hi. You two are getting real cozy over here.” She gives them each a once over. “I don’t really think anyone’s interested in seeing you two suck face tonight.”

“Ew.”

Patrick’s face goes beet red. “We were just, um…”

“Making out,” Stevie deadpans. “Don’t you have a childhood bedroom to fool around in? Fulfill some high school fantasies?”

“It’s more of an office now, so.” 

_So._ David bites hard at his bottom lip. “Stevie can you get us some wine?”

She bats her eyes, acting like she’s thinking about it for a moment before saying, “No.” 

“Rude.”

“Actually, I just wanted to let you know that your mom is probably about to start singing.” 

David shakes his head. _“What?”_

“But your dad and Alexis are there to stop it from happening which should _totally_ end well.” Stevie certainly has a funny way of soothing. 

“Okay.” He gets to his feet. “I need to go make sure that doesn’t happen.” 

“David.” Patrick reaches a hand out to him. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not though.” David contorts himself in a way where he nearly doubles over sideways. “It’s not fine. If she starts now, she won’t stop. And your lovely family isn’t prepared for the Moira Rose One Act Show.”

“What’s wrong with a little carolling?” Stevie asks and she is seriously egging him on right now.

“You’ve never seen her during Christmas,” he explains with his hands wringing together. “Sure, she’s not wearing a big exaggerated bow on her head like she did last year, but if she starts singing now we’ll all somehow get roped into it and then she’ll never stop. This is your parents’ party,” he points to Patrick, “not her’s.”

“And you going over to stop it is helping?”

David throws up his hands. “Maybe.”

“I kind of wish I brought my guitar,” Patrick mutters, and David swings a finger down to point at him again.

“I’m going to go make sure she doesn’t start belting Danny Boy or White Christmas or something, and you two are going to stay here.” 

He pivots on his heel in the direction of wherever his family might be, ignoring Stevie’s calls to bring drinks on the way back.

**

_Crisis fucking averted._

His mother didn’t wind up singing, but she did rope several members of the Brewer family into old, loud regalings of her early days of acting. She claimed she was at the mercy of several heavy pours, and his father swore to keep her far away from the alcohol for the rest of the evening. 

As relieving of a sigh as David and Alexis both released, David still apologized to Marcy and Clint for what was almost a Rose Family Christmas circus. 

“I’m assuming I’m taking the couch tonight?” Stevie asks when they all get back home. She goes to drop her overnight bag on the armchair, but Patrick stops her.

“We actually have you set up in the office with Alexis,” he says.

Stevie just shrugs and follows Alexis down the hall. “Night, guys. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Stevie,” David calls after her.

The room falls quiet as everyone retreats to bed, his mother blowing them both a kiss as she shuts the door behind herself and his father. 

David turns to Patrick. “I’m exhausted.” 

“C’mon.” 

David wastes no time getting himself ready for bed, the down pillows and cotton sheets are basically calling his name at this point. Sleep is at the forefront of his mind as he caps his moisturizer. He crawls under the covers beside Patrick, who’s reading the same novel he’s been working through for a week. 

Carefully, David extracts the book from his hands and sets it on the nightstand on Patrick’s side. He gives a sleepy blink, nuzzles into his neck and breathes deep.

“G’night,” he mumbles into the deep well of Patrick’s collarbone, patting at his chest. “Wake me up when there’s presents.”

Patrick’s chest rumbles as flicks off the lamp. “Good night, David.” 

There’s some shuffling as they readjust themselves into their usual sleeping position — and so Patrick’s actually laying down flat, not propped-up on his pillow. He has a leg hooked over Patrick’s in no time, dozing off.

**

“David, hey.” 

He swears he only gets an hour’s worth of sleep before he’s been nudged awake. He tilts his head toward Patrick, bleary-eyed. “What’s going on?”

“Come downstairs with me.”

“Downstairs—?” David turns to the clock on the nightstand. “Patrick. It’s just after midnight.”

“I know,” he says, and though it’s dim, David can still hear the light smile in his voice. “Merry Christmas, David.”

“Merry Christmas.” David presses a soft kiss to his jaw. “I’m going back to sleep now.”

“You told me to wake you up when there were presents,” Patrick nudges his shoulder again. “And I have a present for you, but it’s by the tree.”

“Can’t you go get it?” 

“Please.” 

David counts to three before sitting upright. “Okay. This better be good.”

Patrick squeezes his hand. “It is. Trust me.”

The only lights on in the house is the one plug-in in the hallway and the tree with its warm glow. 

“Did we really have to come all the way down here when someone could walk in on us?” David whispers irritably, rubbing at his eyes. The last thing he needs is his father waking up in the middle of the night to use the bathroom, only to rope them both into a long-winded conversation. David pulls his sleeves further down his arms. “Also, should I be giving you a gift now if you’re giving me a gift?”

“You already got me the piano,” Patrick replies. He kneels down by the pile of presents by the tree and begins to rummage around. “I don’t need anything else.”

“Okay, but you say that now.” Two glass ornaments clink together amidst Patrick’s searching and David flinches. “Can I help you so we don’t break anything?”

“Uh…” Patrick sits back on his heels. “Sure. It’s a grey bag.”

He’s bent at the waist searching for the aforementioned, nudging bags and wrapped boxes aside, when he begins to lose hope. “Is there a motif on it? A pattern, something?”

“Nope, it’s just grey,” Patrick reiterates quietly.

“Festive. And it’s not hidden inside another bag? Like, you’re not pulling that card?”

“It shouldn’t be.”

David keeps searching even though he’s sleepy and wants to protest and he really cannot believe Patrick coaxed him out of bed at this hour. He finds it, finally, the little bag buried beneath two large ones with candy canes and snowmen printed on them. 

He turns around, brandishing it triumphantly. “Is this— What are you doing?”

Patrick is on one knee in front of him wearing his little downturned smile that David loves almost too much. They’re both dressed in pajamas, swathed in the light of their Christmas tree, in the _middle of the night,_ and Patrick is down on one knee in their living room. 

“Hi.”

“Hi,” he barely breathes.

“Look in the bag, David.”

With a shaking hand, he pushes the tissue paper apart and procures a long velvet box. He lets the bag drop to the ground with a soft rustle so he can grip the case tightly in both hands. David’s breath catches and his heart is absolutely racing in his chest when Patrick speaks again.

“I was going to wait until tomorrow to do this or— well, at a reasonable time _today,_ but I couldn’t wait any longer. And I knew you wouldn’t want to cause a big scene with our families and truthfully, I wanted this moment to be just for me and you.” 

And _fuck,_ how could Patrick be so composed right now? David’s trying his hardest to hold on to every last word this man says; even through tears, even though he wants to kiss him senseless.

“When you moved here, I think I really needed a friend,” Patrick continues, his voice wavering, “and over time I began to realize how much more you were to me than that. You meant everything to me then, and you do now. David, you always will. I count myself lucky that I get to spend every day with the love of my life, and I want to keep doing that.” 

David’s fingers twitch on the box, hesitating, but Patrick’s curt nod is all he needs to go ahead and wedge it open.

Inside are four beautiful gold rings, modeled flawlessly after his silver ones that currently sit in a ring dish up in their bedroom. David chokes out a wet sob, and his cheeks hurt from how much he’s smiling. 

There’s no other answer. There never has been.

“Yes.”

Patrick gets to his feet immediately, taking David in his arms and kissing him soundly. He kisses him — his _fiancé —_ like it’s a necessity for life, like air to breathe. David only pulls back to rest his forehead against Patrick’s, their noses bumping together, exuding quiet laughter.

“I love you,” David hiccups into the space between them.

He takes Patrick’s hand and pulls him over to the sofa. They huddle together, Patrick kissing the arrangement of golden rings on David’s left hand. He kisses each finger tip, his palm, the tender inside of his wrist. He moves to nuzzle and kiss at David’s shoulder, and there is so much love in Patrick’s big eyes when he looks up at him, David nearly cries all over again.

“You’re really gonna marry me?” It sounds so dumb the way Patrick says it, as if David’s going to back out. He wouldn’t do that in a million years.

“Yeah,” he repeats, “I’m really gonna marry you.”

“Good.” And Patrick starts laughing then. “I really didn’t want to have to return these. It would have been really awkward if you said no.”

“Yeah.” David starts laughing, too, a hysterical kind of laughter where his shoulders shake as he tries to keep as quiet as possible. “I got you a kettle,” he manages to say.

Patrick blinks at him. “What?”

“Your present. It’s in that box with the red and white wrapping paper with the trees on it. It’s a stainless steel kettle. And there’s a sweater somewhere, and some other small things.”

Patrick’s eyes are practically glowing in the cozy lighting. It’s making David feel all warm and fuzzy inside — in accompaniment to the floaty, blissful sensation he’s feeling. 

“I love you, David.” Patrick catches him in a kiss once again.

David runs his fingers through the short hair at the back of Patrick’s neck. “What happened to talking about this after the holidays?”

“I couldn’t wait,” he half-jokes. “That’s partly true, I already had the rings. I was planning on proposing today long before your botched attempt at starting the conversation last week.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say _botched.”_

Patrick only hums. 

For whatever reason, Patrick wants to marry him. David, who has been knocked about for years as he went in and out of failed relationships thinking, _“Maybe this is it.”_

When he moved to Mistmill, a random, slightly impulsive decision on his part but seriously fucking needed, he didn’t know what to expect. Not to put down roots, that’s for damn sure. 

But then there was Patrick, the kind-hearted coffee shop owner who wore blue button-down shirts and snug jeans and had an air of sarcasm about him that David didn’t know what to do with. He fell in love with him slowly that summer, over cups of coffee and movies and art. 

And he’s here now, sitting next to David, holding his hand over his heart after giving him four shining gold rings — he’s a little surprised Patrick didn’t go for five just for the joke and time of year. He supposes, when their wedding bands are picked out (Oh my _god),_ there’s a good possibility of a fifth gold ring there.

They have time for that. For now, David just wants to savor this private moment.

_**December 25th, Christmas Day** _

Somewhere not too far outside of his dream state, something slams, a muttering swear following suit.

It takes a second for David to register his surroundings when he cracks his eyes open. He’s in the living room, curled up on the couch with Patrick underneath him, who’s stirring awake.

_“Wuzzat?”_

“Oh, oops, I didn’t think you guys would wake up.”

It’s Stevie. 

She pads over to the back of the couch. There’s a curious glean in her eye and a half smile on her lips “Did you do it?”

David maneuvers himself onto his elbow. “She knew?” He asks Patrick.

“I asked for her blessing a few weeks ago,” he confirms gruffly, repositioning his head on the throw pillow. A hand presses into David’s back and guides him back down onto his chest.

It’s too early for David to feel so...much. 

“I also figured since Pepper’s sleeping right over here, you guys were down here.”

David angles his head up just enough to see Pepper sound asleep under the coffee table. He smiles. “I could use more sleep, too.”

She leans further into the couch. “Can I at least see the rings?”

David lets out a little scoff at the fact his best friend is one, asking too much too early, and two, that Stevie knew about the rings, _plural._

He pulls his hand from where it’s stuck beneath Patrick’s side, a bit tingly with pins and needles, but raises it so Stevie can see. She doesn’t grab for his hand or touch them individually, she just keeps her arms crossed over the back cushions and tucks her lips into a tiny smile. 

David ignores the sniff she makes and the thickness in her voice. “I’ll leave you lovebirds to it.”

“How generous,” he mumbles into Patrick’s chest, even though he’s grateful she’s part of their life. It’s just far too early for her infrequent sincerity. 

Patrick whispers, “Thanks, Stevie,” and soon enough, David’s eyes are drooping shut.

It isn’t until he hears Alexis’s voice as she calls out to Pepper that he wakes up again.

“Good, you’re up,” Patrick whispers beneath him, “My arm’s asleep.”

“Hm? Oh, sorry.”

“There you two are!” Alexis is leaning with her hip against the counter when they both sit upright. “Merry Christmas, sleepyheads!”

“Merry Christmas, Alexis.” David shoves his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. “How did you even miss us?”

“I’m sorry, someone had to feed your dog. Right, Pep?” At her name, Pepper barks. 

“I’m going to shower before my parents get here.” Patrick kisses David’s cheek and heads upstairs. “Mom said they’d be over around ten.”

“Good, she promised orange rolls.” 

“Mmm, yum!” Alexis taps the counter. “I can’t wait!”

“Okay,” David starts the coffee maker, a simple one considering Patrick’s career choice, and pulls two mugs out of the cabinet. He tugs his sleeves down over his knuckles. “You will not be hogging all of them.”

“Tell that to yourself, David. You have the biggest sweet tooth imaginable.”

He rolls his eyes. She’s right. “Almond milk?”

“Yes, please.” Alexis slides into a chair at the kitchen table as they wait, and David can practically feel her eyes boring into him.

“What?”

“You’re very smiley this morning,” she observes. 

“It’s Christmas.” He sets her coffee down in front of her. “Of course I’m _smiley.”_

“No, but like—“ She gestures to her own face. “It’s warm? Like, you look cheery and refreshed.” Alexis pauses, and her face screws up. _“Ew!_ Wait did you guys have sex on the couch last night?”

“What? No!”

“David!”

“We didn’t!”

“M’kay...” There’s a loose strand of hair falling from her top knot that Alexis begins to play with. She twists it around a finger. “Did Patrick give you his present already? Was it one of your little sweaters?”

David keeps his left hand hidden from view. “We just snuck down here late last night and enjoyed a little peace and quiet by the tree without you carnies there to interrupt us.” He takes a long sip from his mug, embracing the first dregs of caffeine that enter his body.

Alexis is silent for a little while. “You two just had a cute romantic night by the tree and he didn’t give you a gift yet?” She raises her eyebrows. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Fine, Patrick did give me something, but I’ll tell you about it later when everyone’s up.”

“When everyone’s up?” Alexis sits ramrod straight, eyes wide and curious. Her fingers dance across the wood table. “What did he give you, David?”

“Just—nothing!” David squeezes his eyes shut. _“Later.”_

Alexis, however, is clearly not letting this go. She remains quiet, much to David’s relief as he lifts his coffee cup to his lips again. Her hands are wrapped around her own mug, manicured nails tapping against the ceramic until—

“Oh my god, David. Did Patrick propose?”

Okay, right. He forgot that Alexis is infuriatingly good at figuring him out.

He tries to keep his face neutral. “N-no,” he stammers.”

“He did. He proposed! David, you’re _engaged!”_ Alexis launches from her chair and right into him, sending coffee spilling all over the table as she forces him into a hug. “You’re engaged!” She exclaims loudly.

“Alexis, _please—”_

“Who’s engaged?” The door to the guest room opens and their father is standing there, their mother hovering just over his shoulder.

Alexis pulls his left hand up. “David!”

His whole family is suddenly on him, passing him around for hugs, and as much as David wants to bat everyone away, he leans into the moment. 

He sees Stevie over his mother’s shoulder as she holds his face in her hands and cries tears of joy. She’s grinning a strained smile at him, hands clasped under her chin.

“Help me,” David mouths to her, but Stevie shakes her head.

“What’s...going on?” 

The presence of a new voice in the room has all three of them turning toward Patrick. Alexis reaches him first, pulling him into a hug. 

“I can’t believe you guys are engaged!” She boops him on the nose. “And I can’t believe you kept it a secret from all of us!” 

“I knew, actually,” Stevie interjects with a finger raised.

Alexis’s mouth drops open. “Stevie knew?”

“W-what, I asked for her blessing!”

It’s then that David can see the arresting realization on Patrick’s face that he _should_ have just kept his mouth shut. It’s a bit of an _Oh, fuck_ expression and David thoroughly enjoys it.

“You asked for Stevie’s blessing and not _mine?”_ Alexis smacks his arm with a limp hand. “I’m his sister!”

“I’ll ask you next time?” Patrick offers her a weary smile, and that seems to settle Alexis. 

_Next time._ David has to laugh to himself. 

“You guys aren’t going to reprimand me for not asking first either, right?” Patrick directs the question to his parents. 

“No,” his father responds. He rubs his hands together, positively beaming. “We’re just...so happy for you boys.” 

His mother takes his arm. “And David, you must let us know when you start planning. The timeline with these things can only span so far.”

“It’s too early for that — both in the engagement and in the actual day,” David dismisses, pulling away from her to lean on Patrick. “It’s Christmas, and I think we’d just like to enjoy our engagement for a little while. Right?” Patrick nods.

“Even so, you two will be utterly resplendent upon your betrothal.”

“Why don’t you get dressed and I’ll handle them, okay?” Patrick whispers in his ear.

David hums, “Just make sure we get to tell your parents. Alexis figured it out without me really even saying anything.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promises, sealing it with a kiss to his cheek. 

**

He takes his time getting ready, needing a few minutes away from the commotion of his family downstairs. 

David glances down at his left hand; the gold rings catch in the sunlight streaming in through the large windows at the front of the room. It’s only been a few hours but he still can’t believe it, and he isn’t sure it’s going to really hit him for a while. A week from now, David could look down at his hand or over at his fiancé and still be overcome with love for this man. He knows that even years from now he’ll still feel the same way. 

He needs to stop before he cries again.

A soft knock from the door pulls him out of his thoughts. It opens to reveal Patrick, Pepper pushing in past him. 

“My parents are here,” he announces. “And I’ve made your family swear multiple times that they won’t say anything.” 

David tugs at the hem of his sweater. He walks over, wraps his arms around Patrick’s neck and kisses him, a sound and sure thing. “Let’s go tell them.”

Their kitchen table is far more cluttered than it was half an hour earlier. By the looks of it, Marcy and Clint brought over more than just the orange rolls; there’s a big bowl of fruit, a platter of leftover cookies, and Marcy is already rummaging through their fridge for things.

“You’re not making a whole feast, are you?” David digs his elbows into the countertop. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Just pancakes and some eggs,” she says, “Nice and easy.” 

“If pancakes so easy, then why do I always burn them?”

Clint gives him a sympathetic smile as he pours his coffee. “You probably have the heat too high.” 

“Or,” he raises a finger, “Making pancakes is just the bane of my existence.”

Marcy dissolves into light laughter and sets a hand on David’s. “Why don’t I show you how to make them properly.”

“I would love that.”

“Hey, we actually wanted to tell you guys something first.” Patrick’s hand glides across the expanse of David’s back until he reaches his hip. His heart is in his eyes as he looks up at him, a private thing, despite it being shared in a room filled with their families, and it makes David’s stomach swoop. “We—”

“They’re engaged!”

They both whip around to Alexis sitting on the couch with a blinding smile. Next to her, Stevie wears a wincing look of horror painted on her face as she scratches Pepper’s ears. His parents avert their gaze elsewhere, and all David can do is shoot daggers at his sister.

 _“Alexis,”_ he growls.

Slowly, painfully so, her hands come up to pull at her earrings. “Fuck…” 

Under different circumstances, David’s eye would probably be twitching in annoyance. Even still, this was their announcement to make and _twice_ now Alexis has hijacked it—

“You’re engaged?”

They turn back to the Brewers. Marcy has her hands pressed to her lips, eyes shining, and Clint stands completely still at his wife’s side.

Patrick’s hand, which hasn’t left its spot on David’s waist, squeezes. The silence in the room is deafening as everyone waits for one of them to say something. David searches for the words — _word,_ really — to say, but he’s coming up dry. In the end, it’s Patrick who speaks. 

“Yeah.” It’s said with a chuckle, a short and soft one. David leans his full weight into Patrick’s side, heads bumping. “We are.”

 _“Oh…”_ Marcy rounds the counter and hugs them so tight, it knocks the wind right out of them both. “My boys!”

“Mom.” 

“Marcy.” Clint pats at her shoulder. “Let them breathe.” But as soon as she steps back, he replaces her. 

Marcy is swiping at her eyes, looking between them both lovingly. “Pancakes!” She inhales sharply. “Pancakes! And then presents!” She pulls two pans out from the cabinet. “David, come help me, sweetie. And Patrick, you and Dad can do the eggs, okay?” 

By his fourth attempt, David’s getting the hang of it and there’s a full spread on the table within the half hour. 

“Hey.” Alexis nudges him with an elbow, tugging on her fingers. “I’m really sorry about earlier.”

As much as David wants to be completely snarky with her, he can’t bring himself to it. Instead, he twists his lips into a tight little thing. “It’s okay,” he says.

“Yeah, but it wasn’t for me to announce, David.”

“You’re right, it wasn’t. I’ll admit, while it would have been nice to announce our engagement myself, I appreciate how excited you are.”

Alexis’s face lights up. “I really am happy for you,” she chimes, twisting her hair about. “Do you have any ideas on a color scheme yet? Because I’m thinking I can have two looks, like one for the ceremony and then another cute one for the reception—”

David narrows his eyes.

“Okay, fine! Not yet. But just so you know, Kiera Knightley’s green dress from _Atonement_ would look amazing on me.”

“Sure,” he breathes impatiently. He piles a few pancakes onto his plate and half an orange roll.

“If not green, then maybe, like, a nice dusty pink or something silver and backless,” Alexis rambles on.

“I would tell you to just wear a garbage bag, but then you’d ruin the pictures.”

She knocks into him with a smirk. “I love you.”

 _Wow, just...wow._ That was entirely unnecessary and unprompted. He clears his throat. “Okay.”

Plate in-hand, David slots himself into Patrick’s side on the couch, Stevie to his left, as his father starts off with the gifts from himself and his mother. Stevie gives him and Patrick a set of embroidered towels, claiming she had them made up just after Patrick asked her for her blessing and saying it was something that “all married couples seem to have.” 

While David gives Alexis a box set of Dawson’s Creek (“You know box sets are obsolete, right?” “Alexis, just say thank you! It’s a special edition.”) along with her new duffle bag and several of her favorite skincare products, Patrick gives her a French press and several different roasts from the Brew for herself and Ted to try out, along with the bourbon roast he liked so much. “You just boil water, add four or five scoops of coffee grounds to the pot and let it sit for a minute before pushing the knob down.” 

Pepper enjoys her presents more than anyone else — several treats and toys that she’s seemingly having a field day with, if the way she’s chewing the hell out of a new squeaker toy is anything to go by.

Later, when David is feeling all warm and fuzzy and everyone has fawned over the rings on his left hand, he sinks into Patrick’s embrace.

“Thank you, David.”

He brings a hand up to scratch at the light stubble along Patrick’s chin. “For what?”

“For saying yes,” he murmurs into David’s hair. “For moving here, for loving me.”

“You can’t make me cry _again_ today, Patrick,” David laughs, “I need to retain some sort of composure.”

“I promise you, at the very least, I’ll probably be crying on our wedding day, too.”

“You better. I can’t be the only one up there who is!”

Patrick’s phone goes off by his thigh. He laughs as he reads whatever popped up on his screen. “Here.” He passes it over.

Rach  
  
merry christmas you guys! and congratulations 💍😉   
  


David gasps. “She knew?”

“Oh, way before Stevie,” Patrick confirms. “I mentioned it to her back in February.”

 _“February?”_ David blinks at him. “Patrick, how long have you been planning this?”

“Relax, I only got the rings in October, but I wanted to wait until both of our families were around to celebrate.”

He breathes out sharply in response, head shaking.

“And really,” Patrick continues, his thumb running over David’s rings, “I knew you were the one years ago.”

“You…” David shakes his head again. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He nestles into the crook of Patrick’s neck, sighing contentedly as Patrick presses his lips to each of his rings. “Merry Christmas, David.”

With a featherlight kiss to his jaw, breathing in everything about the man he’s wrapped up in, David whispers it right back: “Merry Christmas, Patrick.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! The Star of David tree topper may or may not be a self-insert indulgence based on how my dad and I decorate our each year. I, too, am a delightful hal-half situation.
> 
> Happy holidays! You can find me [@maxbegone](maxbegone.tumblr.com) on tumblr!


End file.
